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of  Utopian  Literature 


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THE  MASTER  BUILDER. 


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THE 


MASTER  BUILDEE; 


LIFE    AT    A    TRADE. 


BY  DAY  KELLOGG  LEE, 

AUTHOR    OF    "SUMMERFIELD;   OR,    LIFE    ON    A    FARM. 


The  boy,  that  some  proud  idiot  spurns. 
With  a  celestial  spirit  bums, 
And  he  witll  blistered  feet  may  go 
Where  passed  the  liigh  Palladio; 
And  with  those  little  hands,  in  time. 
Build  temples  that  will  stand  sublime, 
And  show  the  radiant  fame  he  rears, 
And  shelter  it  a  thuuaaud  years. 


REDFIELD, 

CLINTON   HALL,    NEW   YORK. 
1852. 


Entered,  accordino^  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  One  Thousand 
Eight  Hundred  and  Fifty-two,  by  J.  S.  KEDFIELD,  in  the  Clerk's 
Office  of  tlie  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


STKBKOTVrEO  BY 

.   CUNNINGHAM, 

183  Williaui-st.,  N.Y. 


Utopia 
M77B 


PREFACE. 


Theee  is  a  romance  in  every  true  ctaracter, 
and  in  all  the  great  labors  of  life,  and  this  sim- 
ple story  is  my  second  effort  to  describe  it.  My 
first  book  was  "  Summerfield,  or  Life  on  a  Farm." 
My  second  reveals  a  character  of  which  many 
r-eaders  of  "  Summerfield "  have  asked  to  hear 
more.  And  I  hope  it  may  inspire  them  with 
more  respect  for  every  honorable  calling,  and 
encourage  them  to  rise  to  a  still  more  noble  and 
enlightened  life ;  while  I  may  venture,  perhaps, 
to  describe  the  romance  of  another  of  those  sim- 
ple, yet  sublime  pursuits,  which  are  the  hope  of 
our  Republic,  and  the  glory  of  her  people. 


L 

PAQE 
THE    FOUNDLING,     .......  9 

n. 

PONTIAC?     OR    PALLADIO? 21 

III. 

THE    foundling's    HOME, 32 

IV. 

LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS,    ......      49 

V. 

THE    SEWING    BEE,  ......       62 

VI. 

THE    GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS, 72 

•vu. 

GENERAL    TRAINING,  ......       89 


vi  CONTENTS. 

VIII. 

PAGE 

PARSON    DILWORTh's    SERMON,  ....    100 

IX. 

BEGINNING    TO    BUILD,       .  .  .  .  «  .115 

X. 
THE    READING    CIRCLE,  .  .  •  •  .    126 

XI. 

FALLING    AND    RISING,       ...>..    140 

XII. 

RISING    STILL,  .......    155 

xin. 

THE    FEAST    OF   MAT,  ......    175 

XIV. 

THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE,      .  .  .  .  .  .189 

XV. 

HOME,    SWEET    HOME,         ......    204 

XVI. 

THE    BOW    IN    THE    CLOUD,  .....    218 

XVII. 

THE    8ACEBD    SUPPER, 229 


CONTENTS.  VU 

XVIII. 

PAGE 
JUAN?     OR    JOSEPH? 242 

XIX. 

SPRING    BIRDS    AND    SNOW    BIRDS,       ....    258 

XX. 

TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE,       ......    276 

XXI. 

THE    WEDDING,  .......    290 

XXII. 

THE   END, 308 


THE   MASTER   BUILDER. 


THE    FOUNDLING. 


Sydney,  a  settlement  on  tlie  eastern  shore  of 
Wallawanda  Lake,  commenced  by  emigrants  from 
New  England,  was  described  by  travelers  as  a  well- 
cliosen  and  flourisbing  little  colony  full  sixty  years 
ago  ;  and  twenty  years  later,  when  the  time  of  my 
story  came,  it  had  grown  to  a  goodly  township. 
Extensive  clearings  were  made  in  the  woods  that 
waved  around  the  lake,  and  pleasant  farms  and 
peaceful  homes  gave  life  and  beauty  to  the  scene. 

The  season  was  early  and  abundant,  and  now  in 
July,  while  the  woods  were  white,  and  the  air  was 
fragrant  with  chestnut  blooms  ;  the  fields  reaching 
down  to  the  shore  were  interchangeably  striped 
with  peas  and  oats,  and  grass,  and  corn  ;  embroid- 
ered in  spots  with  rye  in  the  bundle,  and  barley  in 
1* 


10  T  n  E     F  O  U  N  D  L  I  X  G . 

the  swath,  and  woven  with  a  selvedge  of  silk-weed 
flowers  and  buckwheat  buds. 

And  as  the  camera  of  fancy  paints  the  picture 
on  my  mind,  I  see  in  one  field,  a  farmer  raking 
and  stacking  hay  ;  in  another,  the  harvesters  bind- 
ing barley  and  loading  rye  ;  while  in  another  still, 
the  mowers  are  at  work  with  coats  and  vests  off, 
and  scythes  newly  ground  and  hung,  keeping  step 
like  a  phalanx  of  Frenchmen  in  Bonaparte's  lead, 
moving  round  a  square  of  tossing  timothy,  resolv- 
ed to  lay  it  all  in  swaths  before  they  go  to  tea. 

The  wind  is  west ;  the  sky  has  worn  its  fair 
morning  lustre ;  the  air  is  pure,  and  warm,  and 
dry  ;  the  farmers  have  smiled  with  cheerful  hearts 
and  done  already  a  good  day's  work.  But  now 
the  western  sky  grows  dark,  and  a  cloud  soon  rises 
on  the  horizon,  announcing  an  unexpected  shower. 
The  harvesters  quicken  their  step,  and  the  mowers 
catch  up  their  rakes,  to  prepare,  if  possible,  against 
a  storm.  But  the  cloud  mounts  rapidly  over  the 
west  and  covers  all  the  sky ;  and  the  air,  broken 
from  the  hush  of  death,  begins  to  toss  the  limbs  of 
the  trees,  while  a  dismal  and  ominous,  dusk  sits 
down  upon  the  world ;  and  the  frequent  thunder 
and  fearful  lightning,  just  over  the  western  woods, 
drive  all  the  farmers  from  their  fields. 

Bo3's  and  girls  run  home  from  school ;  the  bare- 
footed, keeping  the  lead,  and  the  frightened  beg- 
ging the  fearless  not  to  whistle  or  swear,  lest  the 


THE     FOUNDLING.  11 

thunder  strike  and  kill  them.  Birds  then  flock  to 
the  nearest  trees,  and  the  sweet  swamp-robin  closes 
her  song.  Cattle  run  lowing  from  the  hills.  Fowls 
go  to  roost.  Travelers,  and  all  who  happen  to  be 
abroad,  gain  the  nearest  shelter,  if  they  can  reach 
its  roof;  and  now  the  gates  and  barn-doors  slam 
together ;  apples  and  elms  shake  and  bow  in  the 
roaring  wind  ;  the  big  drops  dash  faster,  the  storm 
flies  all  over  the  zenith,  and  the  conduits  of  heaven 
pour  rivers  of  rain. 

Mrs.  Miriam  Sumner  has  just  set  her  table  for 
tea ;  Mrs.  Golden  and  Mrs.  Tyler  are  visiting  her, 
and  in  fly  little  Martha  Sumner  and  her  brother 
George,  Oiihelia  Golden  and  Jane  Tyler,  all  out  of 
breath,  from  school ;  while  old  Billy  Bronk  finds 
a  hospitable  door,  and  enters,  with  his  straw  hat 
drooping  like  an  inverted  tunnel,  and  his  cotton 
raiment  hugging  his  wet  skin,  like  the  blighted 
pulp  of  a  cling-stone  peach.  Mr.  Sumner  and  his 
men  are  glad  to  lie  down  and  rest  on  the  fragrant 
hay  in  the  barn  ;  and  so  fearful  is  the  scene,  while 
the  lightning  flashes  flame  after  flame,  and  the  wild 
roar  in  the  sky  runs  louder  and  louder,  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner lets  down  the  curtains  of  all  but  one  window, 
and  with  her  tea-pot  taken  from  the  coals  on  the 
hearth,  and  her  biscuits  kept  warm  at  the  fire,  sits 
waiting  with  folded  hands  among  her  company,  for 
the  storm  to  abate  and  the  thunder  to  cease. 

Billy  Bronk  gives  them  comfort  by  his  presence, 


12  THE    FOUNDLING. 

for  company  is  comfort  in  a  storm ;  and  lie  looks 
out  of  the  uncurtained  window  on  tlie  smoking 
fields  and  reeling  woods,  wliile  the  children  nestle 
up  to  their  mothers  like  a  flock  of  frightened 
doves,  and  ]\Iartha  lays  her  head  in  her  mother's 
lap,  and  Ophelia  follows  suit. 

"  Sodom,  this  is  a  swashin'  storm  !  The  wettest 
and  wildest  we've  catched  this  summer,  by  all  odds. 
I  guess  a  cloud  has  burst,  and  all  the  fierce  winds 
been  let  loose  upon  us.  I  never  rocked  in  a 
rougher  rouse,  on  the  sea,  when  I  was  out  priva- 
teerin',"  said  Billy  Bronk,  forgetting  the  shower 
within  that  ran  from  his  hat  and  clothes ;  and 
gazing  with  earnest  eyes  at  the  storm  that  still 
raged  on  the  field,  and  was  wrestUng  down  the 
mightiest  monarchs  of  the  woods. 

"  I  hope  nobody  is  out  in  this  storm,"  said  Mrs. 
Sumner. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  troubling  ourselves  about 
them,  if  there  are,"  said  Mrs.  Golden.  "  Our  folks 
were  where  they  could  see  the  storm  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  I  know  they  are  in.  I  feared  the  most 
for  Philly,  and,  with  her  head  in  my  lap,  I  have 
nothing  now  to  trouble  me,  but  the  fear  that 
this  sharp  lightning  may  strike  too  near  me. — 
O !  what  a  fiery  flash !  Heavens,  the  world  is 
faUing  I" 

"  Mr.  Bronk,  come  from  the  window — do  come 
from  the  window,  the  lightning  may  strike  you !" 


THE    FOUNDLING.  18 

said  Mrs.  Sumner,  more  terrified  as  the  last  peal  of 
thunder  crashed. 

"  O,  do  sit  away  from  the  window,  "William,  you 
are  in  danger  there !"  said  Mrs.  Tyler,  growing 
pale  with  terror,  and  moying  her  seat  nearer  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"  I'm  not  afeared  of  thunder,"  answered  Billy 
Bronk.  "If  it  strikes  me,  it  strikes  me,  that's  all, 
and  I  can't  skulk  away  from  it  yery  well.  Hear 
that  ?  and  that !  a  yery  smart  sort  of  a  roar,  I 
reckon.  I  loye  to  hear  it  crack  like  big  guns. 
And  to  be  sober,  it  is  God's  thunder,  and  he  will 
take  care  of  it.  If  any  thing,  I'm  less  afeared  for 
myself  and  the  world  when  it  thunders ;  it  tells 
me  that  God  still  goyerns  all  nater,  and  is  not 
asleep,  or  away  from  home  ;  and  nothin'  '11  run  to 
rack  or  ruin.  Hear  that !  The  air  will  take  a 
sweetenin'." 

"  How  can  he  talk  so,  mother  ?"  asked  Martha 
Sumner,  shocked  almost  as  by  lightning  at  each 
word. 

"  He  is  a  strange  man,"  returned  Mrs.  Sumner. 
"  Do  speak  more  reyerently,  Mr.  Bronk.  It  is  in- 
deed His  thunder,  and  we  are  in  His  arms,  clasped 
even  to  His  loying  bosom  ;  and  therefore  we  should 
be  silent  while  He  speaks,  or  speak  more  reyerently.* 
— The  storm  increases.  I  really  hope  nobody  is  out 
doors  now.     How  the  woods  do  reel  and  roar !" 

"It's  the  clearin'  up  shower,  I  reckon,"   said 


14  T  II  E     F  O  U  X  D  L  I  N  G . 

Billy.  "The  sky  will  be  clear  as  a  lookin'-glass 
terights,  and  the  world  '11  smell  as  fresh  as  a  pea- 
field.  The  world  would  rot  if  'twasn't  for  thun- 
der, and  I  love  to  count  the  hearty  claps." 

"  Dear  me,  what  thing  is  that  in  the  fields  yon- 
der ?"  cried  Mrs.  Sumner,  starting  from  her  chair 
and  letting  Martha  fall  on  the  floor.  "  That  white 
thing  trying  to  move  against  the  wind  this  way. 
It  must  be  one  of  our  lambs  perishing  in  the  storm. 
Don't  you  see  it  ? — There,  there  !  it  attempts  to 
rise  !  Why,  don't  you  see  it,  Mr.  Bronk  ?  Take 
the  range  of  this  cherry  tree,  and  the  old  chestnut 
there,  on  the  edge  of  the  woods." 

"  I  see  it  now  !  I  see  it,"  said  Billy.  "  That  is 
not  a  lamb,  Miss  Sumner.  See,  it  stands  up  higher  I 
It  is  a  child  ;  see  its  arms  lifted  up  as  if  callin' 
for  its  mother.  There,  it  is  down  again  on  the 
grass." 

"It  cannot  be  a  child,"  said  Mrs.  Tyler. 

"  IIow  can  it  be  ?  whose  could  be  out  in  such  a 
hard  storm  in  our  field  ?  There,  it  is  up  again  ! 
0,  I  fear,  I  fear  it  is  a  little  child  !  Can  I  live  to 
reach  the  poor  thing,  and  bring  it  in  ?  I  will  try," 
said  Mrs.  Sumner. 

"You  know  it  is  not  your  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Golden,  "and  I  would  not  trouble  myself  about  it 
till  the  storm  is  over.  You  cannot  do  it  any  good 
now." 

"  It  is  somebody's  child,"  returned  Mrs.  Sumner; 


T  H  E     F  0  U  X  D  L  I  X  G .  15 

"  and  I  will  risk  a  slio-^-ering  to  bring  it  in.  Now 
it  is  down  again  on  its  face  !  Now  it  is  up  ;  see, 
Mrs.  Golden  !  it  is  a  child,  surely.  Ill  bring  it  in 
if  I  can." 

"You  cannot  bring  it  in,  and  you  11  spoil  your 
dress  if  you  attempt  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Golden. 

"  I  will  attempt  it,  poor  creature  !  How  would 
we  feel  if  it  was  ours  ?  The  wind  slackens,  the 
rain  holds  up  a  little  now,  and  I  will  venture  to 
reach  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sumner. 

"No,  you  shall  not  go;  I  will  go,"  said  Billy 
Bronk.  "  I'll  fetch  him  in  quickly ;"  and  he  rush- 
ed out  on  the  mown  field  near  the  woods,  clasped 
it  in  his  arms  and  returned  to  the  house,  while  Mrs. 
Summer  would  have  been  crossing  the  road  and 
passing  the  gate. 

"Why,  of  all  things,  it  is  a  child  I"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Golden,  as  Billy  set  its  feet  upon  the  floor. 

"Whose  can  it  be?"  inquired  Mrs.  Tyler.  "I 
am  sure  I  never  saw  that  face  before." 

"  A  dear  little  boy  !  and  how  he  must  have  suf- 
fered !  Will  he  live,  Mr.  Bronk  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner, taking  both  his  hands  in  hers  to  warm  them,  and 
then  kissing  the  tears  from  his  sun-burned  cheek. 

"Yes,  I  guess  he'll  make  a  live  on  it.  He's 
pretty  badly  scart,  and  is  so  tuckered  out  I  can't 
get  him  to  speak ;  but  I  guess  he'll  get  over  it  and 
live.  Such  boys  are  tough  as  black-ash  knots," 
answered  Billy  Bronk. 


16  THE    FOUND  LIXG. 

"  I'll  put  him  into  a  warm  bed,  and  you  go  and 
call  Mr.  Sumner.  What  we  do  must  be  done 
quickly.     He's  cold  and  faint ;"  said  Mrs.  Sumner. 

"  No,  he  can't  be  very  cold,"  said  Billy  Bronk. 
"The  rain  is  warm  as  dish-water;  he  can't  be 
cold ;  but  he's  scart  and  tuckered  out.  Put  him 
to  bed  though,  and  I'll  call  Arthur." 

A  pretty  looking  child  it  was  they  had  brought 
in  from  the  storm  ;  a  little  boy,  some  less  than  five 
years  old  ;  but  he  was  all  in  rags,  without  hat,  or 
coat  or  shoes,  and  looked  almost  famished  ;  and  his 
face  was  burned,  his  neck  was  blistered  by  the  sun, 
and  his  poor  feet  bruised  and  bleeding.  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner placed  him  in  a  comfortable  bed,  and  he  fell 
asleep  on  the  instant,  he  was  so  exhausted  with 
fatigue.  The  men  came  in  from  the  barn,  and  the 
storm  passing  over.  Dr.  Waxwood  was  called,  who 
advised  them  to  let  him  sleep  an  hour  or  two,  then 
rouse  him  and  feed  him  a  little,  and  let  him  sleep 
three  or  four  hours  longer,  and  feed  him  again,  and 
he  would  be  on  his  feet  in  the  morning.  He  was 
exhausted,  the  doctor  said,  by  hunger,  fatigue,  and 
fear. 

You  may  well  conceive  that  the  house  was  set  in 
commotion.  The  famished  and  ragged  condition 
of  the  boy  excited  the  most  feeling,  and  Mrs. 
Golden  and  her  little  Ophelia  were  painfully  curious 
to  know  whose  he  was,  how  he  came  there,  and 
where  he  came  from.     At  length  it  was  remember- 


THE    FOUNDLING.  17 

ed  that  tea  liad  not  been  taken,  and  Mrs.  Sumner 
seated  lier  guests  around  the  table,  making  no 
apology  for  cold  biscuits  or  bitter  tea ;  and  while 
she  attempted  to  serve  them  pohtelj,  each  was 
obliged  to  help  herself  to  most  that  she  enjoyed, 
for  Mrs.  Sumner's  mind  was  on  the  little  stranger 
in  the  bed,  and  she  kept  running  to  him  to  adjust 
the  pillow  and  watch  his  breath.  The  conversa- 
tion at  the  table  of  course  turned  upon  the  child, 
and  while  Mrs.  Golden  and  little  Ophelia  were  kind 
enough  to  do  most  of  the  talking,  Mrs.  Tyler  ex- 
pressed great  sympathy,  and  Mrs.  Sumner,  and 
Martha,  and  Jane,  could  not  restrain  their  tears,  he 
had  suffered  so  much  in  the  storm,  and  was  so  fam- 
ished and  forlorn. 

Ophelia  feared  his  dirty  feet  might  soil  Mrs. 
Sumner's  bed.  Mrs.  Golden  tried  again  and  again 
to  imagine  where  he  came  from,  and  who  would 
take  care  of  him  if  nobody  came  to  own  him.  Mrs. 
Sumner  said  he  should  not  want  for  friends,  or  a 
home,  while  she  lived,  and  could  find  a  shelter; 
and  Mrs.  Tyler  thought  it  very  strange  that  he 
should  come  from  the  woods.  Billy  Bronk  re- 
mained some  time  to  see  how  he  continued  to 
appear,  and  Martha,  Jane,  and  George,  kept  run- 
ning to  the  bed  to  gaze  on  his  sad  and  sunken  face. 
The  women  began  to  talk  of  going  home,  when 
Mr.  Golden  drove  up  for  his  wife  and  daughter, 
and  said,  as  he  ahghted  from  his  carriage,  "  There's 


18  THE    FOUNDLING. 

dreadful  news  about  town  ;  I  suppose  you've 
heard  afore  now" 

"  Heard  what  ?"  interrupted  Mr.  Sumner. 

"What  news?  the  lightnin'  didn't  strike  any 
body  ?"  inquired  Billy  Bronk. 

"  No,  but  a  rifle  bullet  /kw,"  replied  Mr.  Golden. 
— "  An  Indian  has  been  shot  in  the  woods.  'Zekiel 
May  and  John  Gordon  were  out  shooting  squirrels, 
and  they  killed  him  accidentally.  There  is  a 
wonderful  mystery  about  the  Indian.  You  know 
there  has  been  a  company  of  Indians  down  in 
Summerton's  meadow  on  the  lake  shore,  making 
baskets,  these  three  or  four  weeks  ?  Well,  they 
say  this  Indian  come  there  with  a  little  white  boy, 
which  he  said  he  had  had  with  him  several  months. 
The  boy  clung  to  his  heels  like  a  little  dog ;  and 
he  thought  everything  of  the  boy,  and  said  he  was 
going  to  make  an  Indian  of  him.  He  was  out  in 
the  woods  hunting  this  forenoon,  having  the  boy 
along  to  carry  game,  and  'Zekiel  accidentally  shot 
him,  and  the  boy  hasn't  been  seen  since." 

"  Indeed,  this  is  very  strange  news !"  cried  Mr. 
Sumner.     "  Where  is  the  dead  man  now  ?" 

"  They  carried  him  into  Mr.  Summerton's,  and 
'Zekiel  is  going  crazy." 

"  They  have  not  seen  the  boy  since  ?" 

"  No." 

"  How  old  was  he  ?" 

"  Only  about  four  or  five,  they  say.     I  greatly 


THE    FOUNDLIISTG.  19 

■wonder  how  the  Indian  came  bj  him,  and  why 
Providence  should  cut  him  off  so  suddenly," 

"  This  must  be  the  little  fellow  in  our  bed  now  ; 
a  poor  little  boy  we  brought  in  from  the  storm. 
He  must  be  the  one  you  speak  of,"  cried  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner. "  Poor  little  heart !  I  am  glad  we  brought 
him  in.  But  do  go,  Mr.  Sumner,  and  see  about 
the  matter,  while  I  take  care  of  the  boy." 

The  company  broke  up  ;  Mrs.  Tyler  and  her 
daughter  went  home,  and  Mr.  Sumner  and  Billy 
Bronk  started  immediately  for  Mr.  Summerton's. 
Soon  after.  Dr.  Waxwood  followed,  and  then  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Golden,  taking  along  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ter, who  desired  to  see  the  Indian.  Mrs,  Sumner 
and  her  two  children  remained  to  nurse  the  stray 
little  lamb  that  slept  in  their  fold  ;  to  stare  on  the 
mystery  that  hung  like  a  ghastly  cloud  above  him, 
to  think  of  his  poor  mother,  and  weep  for  his  un- 
conscious grief. 

After  sleeping  two  hours  he  was  roused  and  fed, 
and  it  seemed  that  he  would  swallow  down  dish 
and  all,  he  was  so  hungry.  Still,  he  rolled  his  fev- 
erish eyes  without  noticing  a  person  around  him, 
and  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  they  laid  him  back  on 
the  pillow,  Mr.  Sumner  returned  and  confirmed 
the  melancholy  news.  A  great  multitude  had 
gathered  at  Mr.  Summerton's,  and  no  one  censured 
Ezekiel  May.  He  mistook  the  Indian's  black  hair 
for  a  squirrel,  and  shot  him  through  the  head. 


20  THE    FOUNDLING. 

The  Indians  described  the  white  boy  that  followed 
him,  and  all  said  it  must  be  the  one  they  had  taken 
in  from  the  storm.  There  was  great  excitement, 
and  to-morrow  there  would  be  an  investigation  of 
the  whole  affair. 


It 

PONTIAC?    OR,    PALLADIO? 

On  the  following  morning,  the  magistrates  assem- 
bled at  Mr.  Sumner's,  and  a  crowd  of  people  came 
with  them,  to  see  the  little  boy,  and  clear  up,  if 
possible,  the  mystery  which  veiled  his  entrance 
upon  that  scene.  The  tender  attentions  of  Mrs. 
Sumner  had  so  far  restored  him,  he  was  able  to  sit 
with  the  family  at  breakfast,  and  go  about  the  house 
and  door-yard,  although  his  feet  were  sore,  and  he 
appeared  weak  and  sad.  He  was  also  timid  and 
downcast,  and  loth  to  sit  with  them  and  take  any 
food.  He  continued  muttering  and  moaning,  and 
looked  toward  the  woods,  and  called  at  times,  like 
a  bleating  lamb  for  its  mother  or  its  mate. 

The  crowd  formed  a  ring  around  him  in  their 
eagerness  to  see  and  hear,  and  he  became  so  alarm- 
ed the  magistrates  were  obliged  to  take  him  away 
into  a  private  room  for  the  investigation.  They 
first  tried  to  pacify  his  moaning  heart.  They  ask- 
ed him  many  questions.      They  asked  his   name. 


22  P  0  N  T  I  A  C  ?     OR,     P  A  L  L  A  D  I  0  ? 

They  asked  if  he  had  a  mother  and  father,  and 
where  they  lived,  and  who  brought  him  there.  But 
they  could  obtain  no  intelligible  answer. 

He  kept  constantly  moaning  as  if  his  poor  heart 
would  break,  and  motioned  to  return  to  the  woods. 
Mr.  Sumner  patted  his  head  tenderly,  held  him  in 
his  arms,  pressed  his  cheek,  attempted  to  soothe 
him,  and  coax  a  word  of  information  from  his 
tongue.  The  boy  was  less  afraid  of  him  than  of 
the  other  men,  and  he  became  more  calm  and  con- 
fident, and  would  swallow  his  sighs  and  attempt  to 
talk  and  be  understood  ;  but  if  words  he  spoke,  no 
one  was  certain  he  understood  them. 

The  Indians  came  up,  and  when  admitted  to  the 
council,  they  declared  he  was  the  boy  the  ill-fated 
wanderer  brought  to  their  wigwams.  They  spoke 
again  of  the  attachment  that  existed  between'  the 
boy  and  his  guardian  ;  they  felt  sure  they  had  been 
months  together,  and  the  foundling  must  have  been 
stolen  from  some  white  mother,  who  now  mourned 
his  loss.  They  spoke  the  name  by  which  the 
strange  chief  called  him ;  it  was  an  Indian  name, 
expressing  pride  and  beauty ;  but  they  knew  little 
that  would  clear  up  the  mystery  of  his  origin  or 
ills.  The  chief  had  been  stubbornly  secret,  and 
they  knew  not  his  tribe,  nor  which  way  he  came. 
They  could  understand  the  boy  better  than  the 
white  men,  for  what  he  could  say  was  more  in 
Indian  than  English ;    but  his  mind  had  been  so 


PONTIAC?     OE,     PALLADIO?  23 

confused  since  he  came,  tliey  could  get  no  informa- 
tion from  him.  They  surmised,  however,  that  he 
had  been  stolen  a  gi-eat  way  off,  where  loving 
parents  wept  his  loss. 

Billy  Bronk  fancied  that  he  could  tell  the  way 
he  came,  and  he  was  admitted  to  try  his  oracle, 
though  few  were  ready  to  trust  its  response.  He 
spit  in  his  left  hand,  and  struck  the  spittle  with  his 
right  fore-finger,  saying,  it  would  fly  toward  the 
boy's  home.  But  he  withdrew  in  mortification,  for 
the  first  flew  all  ways,  and  the  second  and  third 
would  not  fly  at  all. 

A  simple  old  man  then  brought  in  a  '*  gran'ther- 
long-legs,"  and  told  him  to  tell.  But  the  insect 
seemed  ashamed  of  his  own  credit  for  an  oracle, 
and  was  so  confused  and  indefinite  in  his  pointings, 
he  offended  his  imperious  questioner,  and  was 
crushed  beneath  his  foot.  The  boy  continued  his 
sobs  and  moans,  and  the  tears  that  rolled  over  his 
cheeks  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  many  of  the 
people. 

Mrs.  Sumner  had  washed  liim  with  a  soap  that 
soothed  and  softened  his  skin  ;  had  combed  and 
cut  his  hair,  and  dressed  him  up  in  a  handsome 
scarlet  coat,  starred  with  the  brightest  bell-buttons, 
which  contrasted  well  with  a  buff  vest  and  white 
trowsers  ;  and  she  thought  he  looked  as  George  did, 
when  he  pranced  in  the  pretty  suit,  while  they  all 
declared  he  would  be  a  fine  looking  fellow  when 


24  PONTIAC?     OR,     PALL  AD  10? 

the  sun-burn  left  his  face,  and  he  was  wonted  and 
refreshed. 

He  was  judged  to  have  been  a  high-bom  baby. 
His  air  and  step,  though  famished  and  weary,  still 
gave  signs  of  good  blood,  which  only  Mrs.  Golden 
questioned;  and  while  most  of  them  concluded 
that  he  came  from  some  good  family  in  a  city  or 
village,  Mrs.  Golden  alone  suspected,  "he  was  a 
half-breed  Indian,  or  some  coarse  clodhopper's 
child." 

Neglected  though  he  had  been,  and  burned  and 
blistered  though  he  was,  he  showed  the  form  and 
features  of  a  very  fine  boy.  He  could  not  have 
been  five,  and  yet  he  was  more  than  three  years 
old ;  and  he  was  all  the  more  firmly  set  for  the 
rambling  forest  life  into  which  he  had  been  carried. 
He  had  a  well-turned  head,  rounded  out  full  in  all 
the  intellectual  regions;  large  already  in  indica- 
tions of  benevolence  and  veneration,  moulded 
handsomely  over  the  ears ;  curved  symmetrically 
behind,  flush  in  imitation  and  love  of  praise,  and 
deficient  most  in  combativeness  and  firmness.  His 
hair  was  a  cinnamon,  profuse  and  bright,  and  full 
of  cunning  crinkles.  His  eyes  were  a  lustrous  and 
spirited  blue,  rather  large  and  wide-set.  His  eye- 
brows were  high,  and  their  lashes  long,  and  they 
flashed  like  flames  in  the  sun.  His  nose  would  be 
thin  and  agreeable,  with  nostrils  that  would  palpi- 
tate the  spirit  of  a  man.     His  ears  were  round  and 


PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO?  25 

transparent.  His  complexion  must  natively  liave 
been  very  fair ;  his  clieeks,  lovely  as  bougli  apples, 
Ms  lips  thin,  and  more  of  a  lilac  than  red  rose,  or 
lily ;  his  chin  and  face  were  dimpled,  and  his  hands 
and  feet  would  look  well  enough,  when  restored  to 
their  natural  shape  and  hue. 

The  investigation  closed  without  satisfying  any 
one.  It  was  judged  best  to  leave  the  boy  with 
Mrs.  Sumner  for  a  week  or  two,  as  she  desired  to 
keep  him,  and  send  inquiries  far  and  near,  in  hopes, 
if  he  had  parents  living,  they  might  learn  where 
he  was,  and  come  and  recover  their  lost  joy.  The 
crowd  one  after  another  went  away,  and  the  magis- 
trates withdrew  to  bury  the  remains  of  the  unfor- 
tunate red  man.  Mrs.  Tyler  and  Mrs.  Golden  went 
home,  conversing  all  the  way  on  the  melancholy 
event,  and  wondering  about  the  mysterious  child. 

Mrs.  Tyler  felt  deeply  for  the  boy,  and  she  found 
little  relief  except  in  the  hope,  that  a  good  mother 
would  come  and  take  him  back  to  her  heart  and 
home.  She  thought  perhaps  the  Indian's  death 
was  a  judgment  sent  to  avenge  his  crime,  and 
restore  his  victim  to  his  parents.  She  hoped  and 
prayed  that  his  parents  would  recover  him. 

Mrs.  Golden  was  pained  more  by  curiosity  than 
kindness,  and  wondered  about  his  origin  and  fate, 
till  her  head  grew  dizzy  and  her  strange  heart 
throbbed.  She  insisted  on  believing  he  must  be  a 
little  half-breed  Indian,  or  some  paddj^  child,  which 

2 


26  PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO? 

good-for-nothing  parents  had  given  the  chief  to 
raise.  She  wondered  who  would  receive  him  in 
case  no  owner  camd  He  would  be  a  bill  of  ex- 
pense to  the  town,  if  left  on  the  town,  and  no  fam- 
ily could  wish  or  will  to  take  him  and  keep  him 
for  nothing.  It  would  be  hard,  she  confessed,  to 
turn  him  into  the  road  or  woods  again,  yet  she 
would  not  want  him  in  her  house.  He  could  not 
be  a  companion  for  Wellington  ;  Bolivar  would 
complain  on  returning  from  the  academy,  at  find- 
ing a  beggar-boy  there ;  and  Mr.  Golden  was  not 
able  to  bring  up  a  boy  even  for  a  family  servant. 

Mrs.  Tyler  declared  she  would  take  him  in  a 
moment,  if  her  husband  would  consent.  She 
would  like  to  have  the  little  fellow  around  her,  and 
see  what  a  man  she  could  make  of  him ;  and  she 
knew  how  she  would  feel,  if  he  was  her  child,  and 
lost,  to  know,  even  in  heaven,  that  another  had 
been  a  parent  to  him,  when  she  could  not  be  near 
him  to  comfort  his  grieving  heart.  But  she  was 
afraid  to  ask  her  husband,  and  said  she  supposed 
Mrs.  Sumner  would  not  let  the  boy  go  from  her. 
Mrs.  Golden  knew  that  Mrs.  Sumner  could  not 
keep  him  long ;  her  health  was  poor,  and  she  had 
too  large  a  family  already ;  and  with  this  conclu- 
sion, the  women  parted  and  went  home. 

Mrs.  Sumner  was  one  of  those  all-hearted  women 
who  are  voluntary  slaves  to  the  most  loving  fam- 
ilies, and  her  health  was  frail,  and  she  had  too 


PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO?  27 

many  cares,  and  had  been  too  often  a  mother,  though 
most  of  her  children  were  taken  home  to  God. 
She  had  one  of  the  best  of  husbands.  Yet,  with 
all  he  could  do  or  say,  he  could  not  keep  Miriam 
from  the  busiest  work.  Martha  was  a  gracious 
child,  the  plump  embodiment  of  love  and  sweet- 
ness, and  he  hoped  she  would  live  to  become  a 
woman,  as  he  knew  she  would  aid  her  mother,  and 
make  her  life  a  joy. 

Many  as  were  her  cares,  however,  Mrs.  Sumner 
found  it  perfectly  convenient  to  keep  the  little 
stranger  several  days.  At  first  he  had  to  be  vigi- 
lantly guarded,  that  he  might  not  fly  to  the  woods 
again ;  but  after  the  fourth  day,  he  gave  up  that 
struggle,  assumed  a  more  cheerful  countenance, 
became  perfectly  wonted,  and  seemed  really  to  en- 
joy George  and  Martha's  plays.  Mrs.  Sumner's 
smiles  now  were  answered,  and  there  was  comfort 
in  that,  more  than  repaying  all  her  motherly 
attentions.  He  was  pleasantly  diverted  by  the 
bright  bell-buttons  on  his  scarlet  coat,  and  he  was 
so  proud  of  his  trowsers,  scarcely  a  fleck  of  dirt, 
for  a  whole  week,  soiled  them.  He  suffered  for 
nothing  good  to  eat,  and  it  would  have  done  your 
heart  good  to  see  how  he  relished  his  meat,  and 
with  what  a  thankful,  musical  gurgle  he  took  down 
his  sweetened  milk  and  water.  A  saucer  of  melt- 
ing berries  large  as  thimbles  was  set  before  him, 
and  they  were  amused  to  see  him  enjoy  them.    He 


28  PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO? 

would  press  his  teeth  to  the  ruddy  gums  upon 
them,  and  chew  a  minute  on  a  single  berry,  rolling 
the  sweet  dainty  from  cheek  to  cheek,  and  staining 
his  lips  with  the  luscious  crimson. 

Ilis  bruised  feet  were  healed  ;  his  blisters  disap- 
peared, and  his  complexion  and  features  came  out 
fairer  and  fairer.  The  Sumners  were  very  fond  of 
him,  and  clasped  him  closer  to  their  hearts.  But 
he  was  only  theirs  to  keep  a  little  while ;  a  stray 
sunbeam  to  be  withdrawn ;  a  little  gentle  dove 
beaten  down  by  the  storm,  and  brought  in  to  pick 
a  few  love-crumbs  from  their  hand,  and  be  dried 
and  smoothed,  and  delight  them  with  its  beauty 
and  its  cooing,  and  then  taken  to  another  home. 
They  hoarded  the  sunbeam,  they  treasured  the 
image  of  the  dove,  and  were  sad  to  have  him  taken 
from  them. 

After  four  weeks  transpired,  no  parents  or  home 
were  heard  from,  and  the  magistrates  came  to- 
gether again  to  dispose  of  the  orphan  thrown  upon 
their  mercy.  Mrs.  Sumner  wept  to  know  that  she 
could  not  kee23  him  as  her  own,  and  rejoice  in 
building  him  up  in  beautiful  manhood.  She  could 
hardly  submit  to  a  separation ;  yet  h'er  situation 
would  not  permit  what  she  dearly  desired,  while 
the  magistrates  urged  his  keeping  on  another. 
The  Indians  clamored  to  get  him,  but  their  clamor 
was  rejected.  He  must  go  into  a  white  and  civil- 
ized family.     Mrs.  Golden  made  a  bid,  but  it  pro- 


PONTIAC?     OK,     PALLADIO?  29 

mised  so  little  for  tlie  welfare  of  tlie  boy,  iter  bid- 
ding was  not  beaded.  The  Indians  still  maintained 
an  eager  suit.  He  sbould  learn  the  step  of  the 
trail  and  the  ways  of  the  wood,  as  well  as  tbeir 
wisest  one.  He  sbould  make  pretty  baskets  and 
moccasins.  He  sbould  manage  tbe  canoe  ;  be 
sbould  master  tbe  bow  and  arrow ;  be  sbould  be 
bold  in  war  as  a  Cayuga  brave ;  be  sbould  bunt 
like  a  bawk-eyed  Huron.  Tbe  tie  of  bis  belt 
sbould  be  neater  tban  a  ISTarragansett's  ;  be  sbould 
be  a  cbief  at  last,  and  bave  a  cbieftain's  daugbter 
for  bis  bride.  He  was  a  tender  soul,  plastic  as 
wax,  pliant  as  an  eager  vine,  and  wbo  could  doubt 
but  be  migbt  be  made  a  finisbed  prince  among  tbe 
people  of  tbe  woods  ?  Tbe  patbs  of  a  dozen  des- 
tinies all  centred  in  bis  step,  and  wbo  migbt  trace 
and  measure  tbeir  divergence,  or  tell  tbe  impor- 
tance of  tbe  better  cboice  ?  His  little  feet  covered 
tbem  all,  and  yet  one  of  tbem  wound  tbe  lofty  bill 
of  art  wbicli  Palladio  ascended ;  and  anotber  ran 
as  a  trail  in  tbe  savage  woods,  wbere  Pontiac  died. 
Tbat  little  foundbng  boy  was  a  possible  Palladio, 
and  a  possible  Pontiac,  and  wbicb  patb  of  destiny 
sbould  now  be  cbosen  for  liim  ? 

One  of  tbe  magistrates  yielded  to  tbe  plea  of  tbe 
Indians,  and  one  or  two  otbers  wavered.  But  tbe 
pleas  of  tbe  citizens  against  tbe  barbarous  idea 
decided  tbe  question,  and  Mrs.  Tyler  was  in  joy  to 
bear  ber  busband  offer  tbe  most  generous  bid,  and 


80  PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO? 

promise  to  teacli  him  his  trade  in  the  bargain. 
Many  declared  he  should  have  a  trade  if  he  re- 
mained unclaimed  till  he  could  learn  one,  and  he 
was  given  to  Mr.  Tyler. 

Mrs.  Sumner  looked  like  one  bereaved,  as  they 
led  him  away ;  Martha  was  inconsolable  and  wept 
with  her  mother  on  his  neck  at  parting ;  and  the 
house  seemed  more  dreary  than  ever  before,  as  the 
light  of  his  lovely  face  was  withdrawn.  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner had  named  him  for  her  good  husband,  and 
Arthur  Sumner  was  led  away  and  taken  to  his  new 
home,  sobbing  aloud  as  he  went,  to  part  with  those 
good  and  tender  friends. 

The  eyes  of  men  are  pained  with  few  sights  more 
pitiful  than  the  life  of  a  little  child,  without  father 
and  mother,  cast  upon  a  world  like  ours,  where  so 
much  selfishness,  and  so  little  sympathy  is  found. 
And  consider  how  the  pain  increases,  when  to 
orphanage  is  added  the  misfortune  of  Arthur  Sirni- 
ner,  torn  away  from  every  heart  that  beats  with  the 
love  of  kindred,  and  every  face  whose  smiles  have 
been  its  light  of  life ;  cast  among  savages,  kept  in 
the  woods,  and  taken  by  strange  hands  at  last  from 
the- teeth  of  a  tempest,  and  thrown  on  the  mercy 
of  strangers,  who  send  him  to  a  strange  home ! 
Can  you  wonder  that  the  Sumners  wept,  distant 
though  they  stood  in  blood  and  life  from  him ;  and 
that  theu-  anxieties  followed  the  little  exile  to  that 
new  home,  and  their  hearts  ached  in  agony  for  him? 


PONTIAC?     OR,     PALLADIO?  81 

Can  you  solve  the  enigma  of  such  a  Hfe  ?  Can  you 
tell  why  the  providence  of  Infinite  Love  permitted 
such  a  wo  ? 

It  is  hard  to  see  any  good  in  an  evil  so  full  of 
tragical  grief  Yet  good,  we  hope,  may  come  from 
it  at  last,  Joy  is  born  of  sorrow,  and  day  is  bom 
of  night.  And,  if  it  can  finally  appear  that  the 
child  has  a  Friend,  more  intimate  and  watchful  than 
any  one  on  earth  could  be  ;  nearer  than  a  mother, 
though  she  held  him  in  her  heart  ;  dearer  than  a 
father,  though  he  led  him  by  the  gentlest  hand; 
we  may  be  consoled  for  the  grief  we  feel  for 
him  now,  and  have  higher  faith  in  our  Father  in 
heaven. 

Darker  clouds  are  in  the  sky  than  came  with  that 
cruel  tempest,  and  can  we  hope  those  clouds  will 
soon  roll  away  ?  When  may  we  look  for  a  seg- 
ment of  the  smiling  sunbow  through  the  rifted 
gloom  that  muffles  this  young  life  ? 


III. 

THE     FOUNDLING'S     HOME. 

Arthur  Sumner  went  to  liis  new  home.  It 
was  better  than  running  wild  in  the  woods,  and  yet 
it  was  not  Mrs.  Sumner's,  and  he  stared  at  first  at 
its  strangeness,  put  up  a  pitiful  lip,  and  renewed  all 
the  grief  his  poor  heart  could  hold  as  he  entered 
its  door. 

The  Tylers  lived  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
the  Sumners,  and  they  were  regarded  as  respecta- 
ble and  fine  people.  Mrs.  Tyler  was  a  still  and 
quiet  woman,  of  little  self-will,  or  force,  or  decision 
of  character,  and  she  was  a  kind  and  peaceful 
neighbor,  and  as  good  a  mother  as  she  well  dared 
to  be.  Mr.  Tyler  was  a  tall,  round,  good-looking 
man,  with  an  eager  eye  and  exacting  smile,  show- 
ing the  closeness  of  his  heart,  by  the  cut  and  pres- 
sure of  his  lips,  and  the  tenor  of  his  ways,  by  the 
tone  of  his  voice  and  temper  of  his  words.  He 
was  master  of  his  home,  and  a  champion  of  the 
rights  of  man.     He  would  have  thouo-ht  a  marriage 


THE    FOUXDLIXa's    HOME.  33 

ceremony  null  and  void,  wlierein  tlie  bride  was  not 
commanded  to  obey ;  and  when  a  woman  was  cen- 
sured by  her  sex,  or  repudiated  by  her  husband, 
she  did  not  find  him  among  her  friends.  He  was 
a  fair  neighbor,  however,  and  he  was  regidar  at 
church,  and  talked  every  winter  of  becoming  a 
member. 

The  Tylers  lived  in  a  moderate,  though  respecta- 
ble condition.  Their  means  were  small,  but  it 
would  have  made  them  very  happy,  had  every  will 
in  the  house  been  as  liberal  as  Mrs.  Tyler's.  They 
lived  in  a  log-house,  but  it  was  double,  and  large ; 
it  had  level  white-ash  floors ;  and  fire-places  large 
enough  for  the  amplest  Christmas  log.  There  were 
two  rooms  below,  and  they  were  capacious,  and  one 
was  the  kitchen,  and  the  other  the  parlor.  The 
logs  in  the  parlor  were  so  hewn  as  to  form  a  smooth 
and  even  wall,  and  the  room  was  handsomely  ceil- 
ed and  white- washed.  There  was  a  spare  bed  made 
up  there  in  a  counterpane  of  blazing  stars,  which 
Mrs.  Tyler  had  pieced  at  a  sewing  bee,  and  over- 
hung with  a  set  of  calico  curtains,  planted  with 
rows  of  willows  and  elms,  and  peopled  with  robins 
and  blue-jays. 

On  the  east  wall  was  a  colored  picture  of  Bona- 
parte crossing  the  Alps,  and  on  the  west  was  the 
death  of  Washington  ;  while  Darby  and  Joan,  and 
a  fat  faced  "Sibyl"  and  "Lucy"  adorned  the 
north  wall,  and  a  florid  "Mary,"  "Martha,"  and 
2* 


34  THE  foundling's  home. 

"Almira,"  adorned  the  soutli.  An  ostrich  egg 
hung  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  and  there  were 
strings  of  robin  and  blue-bird's  eggs  around  the 
looking-glass,  beneath  a  spread  plume  of  peacock's 
feathers.  The  mantel  was  set  with  brass  candle- 
sticks, and  the  fire-place  was  filled  with  gi'een 
chestnut  bushes. 

Back  of  the  house,  a  log  bam  lifted  its  thatched 
roof  in  sight,  and  on  the  right  stood  Mr.  Tyler's 
shop,  another  log  building,  ten  by  twelve,  well- 
chinked  against  the  winter's  cold,  with  a  good  fire- 
place and  stick  chimney,  like  the  chimneys  of  his 
house;  a  little  chamber  for  stock  and  trumpery, 
with  horizontal  windows,  and  a  roof  of  hemlock 
bark.  In  that  shop  he  made  most  of  the  shoes  of 
the  neighborhood,  while  out  of  doors  he  carried  on, 
as  well  as  he  could,  a  thirty-acre  farm.  The  farm 
and  all  was  paid  for,  and  nothing  could  be  feared 
from  debts ;  yet  Mr.  Tyler  worked  out-door  and  in, 
early  and  late,  and  drove  his  family  to  work  as 
though  struggling  to  save  it  from  sheriff's  sale. 

The  Tylers  had  three  children.  Jane,  a  hale  and 
hearty  girl  of  nine  well-grown  years  ;  Jason,  a  son, 
going  on  seven ;  and  Sydney,  a  wholesome  baby. 
Jane  had  a  heart  of  considerable  sympathy,  like  her 
mother,  and  she  was  rather  generous  in  her  ways  ; 
while  it  was  plain  that  she  would  have  enough  of 
her  father's  self-will,  and  her  father's  desire  to  put 
the  best  side  out  to  the  world.     Jason  was  complete 


THE    foundling's    HOME.  85 

father.  Everybody  said  so.  He  liad  all  tlie  turns 
of  a  Tyler  head ;  the  curve  and  pressure  of  a  Tyler 
lip ;  the  cut  and  crook  of  a  Tyler  nose ;  the  hue 
and  gleam  of  a  Tyler  eye,  and  the  spring  and  com- 
mand of  a  Tyler  carriage.  Billy  Bronk  declared 
"  he  was  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  and  he  should 
have  known  by  the  cut  of  his  jib,  he  was  a  genu- 
ine Tyler,  had  he  met  him  privateerin'." 

Jason  had  one  or  two  traits  of  his  mother's 
heart ;  but  he  was  always  around  his  father.  He 
did  not  utterly  cast  his  poor  mother  off,  for  he 
could  not  forget  that  she  nursed  him  at  the  tender- 
est  bosom ;  and  he  was  old  enough  to  know  that 
she  was  useful  to  the  family.  But  even  at  the  age 
of  five,  when  crossed  or  rebuked,  he  could  tell  his 
mother  she  lied,  without  a  lisp  or  stammer ;  and 
run  right  against  her  most  motherly  commands ; 
nor  would  Mr.  Tyler  hurt  the  boy's  feelings  by  a 
word  of  correction,  or  show  by  a  look  that  he  dis- 
approved his  conduct ;  on  the  contrary,  he  rather 
seemed  to  like  it,  it  looked  so  cunning.  Still,  Mr. 
Tyler  attended  church,  and  talked  every  winter  of 
becoming  a  member. 

The  baby  w^as  but  nine  months  old,  and  was 
little  more  than  a  form  and  soul  of  hopeful  life, 
having  no  hair,  as  yet,  nor  the  sign  of  a  tooth  or 
eye-brow.  Still,  he  was  Mrs.  Tyler's  precious  dar- 
ling, and  she  had  watched  for  his  first  smile,  and 
listened  for  his  earliest  baby-song,  as  you  watch 


36  THE  foundling's  home. 

and  listen  for  the  liglit  and  music  of  the  morning, 
Jane  began  slyly  to  notice  him,  and  steal  an 
occasional  kiss ;  though  she  and  Jason,  had  the 
suffrage  been  allowed  them  before  his  birth,  would 
have  voted  against  admitting  him  into  the  family. 
And  though  he  was  backward  in  putting  out  the 
leaves  of  life,  his  eyes  were  very  fine,  and  his 
mouth  was  round  and  handsome,  his  hands  Avere 
so  full,  and  the  dimples  so  deep,  they  looked  as  if 
stuffed  and  quilted,  and  the  fillets  of  skin  that 
bound  his  fat  wrists,  seemed  to  cut  them  quite  in 
two.  His  neck  was  white  as  snow,  and  soft,  and 
sweet  to  kiss.  His  eyes  expressed  thanks  for  every 
attention  and  recognition  they  gave  him  ;  he  could 
almost  say,  papa,  and,  mamma,  when  the  words 
were  repeated  and  teased  from  him  ;  and  he  would 
whoop  and  halloo  like  a  wild  pappoose  when  they 
trotted  him  on  the  knee,  or  tossed  him  up  and 
down. 

The  Goldens  were  their  nearest  neighbors,  and 
nearest  kin  in  town,  for  Mrs.  Golden  was  'Mr. 
Tyler's  sister,  Mr.  Golden  was  a  kind  and  faithful 
man,  of  as  little  self-will  and  home-command  as 
Mrs.  Tyler,  and  he  was  stoop-shouldered  and  knot- 
ty-handed, from  too  much  hard  and  bruising  work. 
Mrs.  Golden  had  a  will  that  played  out  from  the 
very  spring  of  her  noble  form  and  lofty  step ;  her 
notions  were  high  as  her  carriage,  and  her  sway 
was  supreme  in  her  house.     People  never  wondered 


THE    foundling's    HOME.  37 

that  slie  was  vain  of  her  looks,  for  slie  was  a 
real  belle  of  beauty  when  a  girl,  and  her  hair  was 
still  lovely,  the  rose  still  bloomed  on  her  handsome 
face,  symmetry  sat  on  her  imposing  form,  her 
hands  were  softer  and  whiter  than  Mrs.  Tyler's  or 
Mrs.  Sumner's  ;  and  though  she  still  supported  the 
virago's  eye,  and  the  hint  of  her  brief  and  ambi- 
tious nose  was  unmistakable,  she  still  caught 
admiiing  eyes,  and  had  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 
her  personal  appearance.  The  Goldens  had  three 
children.  Bolivar,  a  youth  of  thirteen,  "Welling- 
ton, a  lad  of  eight,  and  Ophelia,  a  child  of  six. 
They  all  possessed  many  of  their  father's  looks, 
with  most  of  their  mother's  form  and  spirit. 

Mrs.  Tyler  and  Mrs.  Golden  were  members  of 
the  same  church,  and  while  rehgion  held  a  warmer 
place  in  the  heart  of  the  former,  seemed  more  mel- 
lowly blended  with  her  being,  and  yielded  fruit 
like  the  bread-tree ;  with  the  latter  it  was  more  a 
fashionable  name  and  notion,  bearing  neither 
branch,  nor  leaf,  nor  fruit,  yet  breaking  out  all 
over  the  surface  in  garish  blossoms,  like  the  Judas 
tree.  The  former  loved  God  for  what  he  had  done 
for  the  world,  and  she  tried  to  live  his  religion 
and  dispense  its  fruits  when  not  prevented,  for  the 
comfort  and  relief  of  people  more  needy  than  her- 
self right  around  her  ;  the  latter  loved  God  because 
he  was  popular ;  and  she  saved  several  dollars  and 
cents  each  year,  from  self-denials  of  tea,  cofiee,  and 


88         THE  foundling's   home. 

lace,  and  poured  it  into  the  fund  of  foreign  mis- 
sions, because  her  name  was  published  to  the  world 
on  the  list  of  benefactors,  and  the  dollars  and  cents 
were  printed  on  the  same  bright  line. 

Billy  Bronk  was  their  next  neighbor.  He  had 
moved  from  Hackensack,  in  the  Jerseys,  to  Caugh- 
nawaga,  and  from  Caughnawaga  to  Sydney.  He 
did  not  claim  to  be  a  born  or  bred  sailor,  yet  he 
had  managed  a  fishing-boat  in  New  York  bay,  and 
served  his  country  in  one  successful  cruise  of  pri- 
vateering. He  was  not  over  forty,  and  yet  he  was 
sometimes  called  old  Billy  Bronk.  He  was  a  short 
and  thick-set  person,  of  a  bluff",  but  smiling  face, 
with  light  curly  hair,  open  blue  eyes,  lips  cut 
square  across  like  the  lips  of  a  horse-bell,  and  two 
long  rows  of  the  whitest  teeth,  every  one  of  them 
double,  and  able  to  crack  a  walnut  at  a  crunch. 
He  wore  rings  in  his  ears,  and  his  Sunday  best 
was  a  high  bell-crowned  hat  of  a  narrow  brim  and 
soft  and  shining  gloss,  a  dignified  cravat,  which 
one  of  the  Livingstons  gave  him,  a  buff"  velvet 
vest,  supporting  bell-buttons  without  number,  and 
a  corded  bang-up  round-about,  and  corded  bang-up 
breeches. 

Billy  Bronk  was  rough  in  his  manners,  and 
somewhat  indolent  in  his  way  of  life,  and  yet  a  big 
human  heart  always  beat  in  his  breast.  Billy  pro- 
fessed no  religion,  and  yet  he  was  up-and-down  for 
a  true  man's  honor  ;  he  had  more  than  one  tender 


THE     foundling's     HOME.  39 

side ;  lie  was  an  instant  judge  of  human  nature, 
lie  had  keen  perceptions  of  what  was  right  and 
manly ;  he  thought  it  best  to  believe  in  a  good 
God  or  noce  at  all ;  and  cared  more  for  making  a 
good  appearance  before  Him  than  before  men,  and 
more  for  His  approbation.  Still,  Billy  was  double- 
jointed,  and  had  once  or  twice  been  a  dog  and 
fought  when  grossly  insulted ;  and  he  was  shiftless, 
and  loved  liquor,  and  a  lounge,  and  a  yam,  at 
Trexlar's  tavern. 

Billy  Bronk's  wife  was  well-mated  to  him  in  size 
and  form,  and  her  heart  was  as  large  and  free  as 
his,  and  her  tongue  as  long  and  limber  ;  while  she 
was  a  brisk  and  extensive  worker,  and  sung  all 
day  at  the  loom,  or  over  the  press-board ;  and  lov- 
ed a  pipe  as  well  as  he  loved  rum.  They  had  a 
large  family  of  broad-breasted  and  free-hearted 
children,  of  whom  Barney  and  Betsey  were  near- 
est the  age  of  our  poor  Arthur  Sumner. 

The  next  neighbors  were  the  Summertons,  and 
they  had  a  son,  Volney,  and  a  daughter,  Celestia, 
and  others  I  need  not  name.  The  next  were  the 
Sumner's,  who  entered  our  first  chapter.  Every- 
body liked  Mr.  Sumner,  and  said  he  was  a  good 
mate  for  his  noble-hearted  wife.  He  was  of  a 
stamp  of  character  that  abounds  in  our  rural  popu- 
lation, though  more  intelligent  than  the  average  of 
his  neighbors.  He  was  one  of  a  hundred  in  that 
township    who  could  boast  that  they  had  never 


40  THE     foundling's     HOME. 

been  sued,  and  never  bad  gone  to  law.  He  liad 
reason  enougli  to  endow  a  Bacon,  and  the  clearest 
and  finest  common  sense.  He  was  a  good  historian. 
He  read  his  two  newspapers,  and  preserved  them 
all  in  unbroken  files.  He  was  fond  of  comparing 
ancient  and  modern  heroes,  and  discussing  the  best 
methods  of  agriculture.  He  had  always  a  couplet 
of  Pope,  or  a  floating  proverb  of  Shakspeare,  to 
clinch  an  argument  or  illustrate  a  thought.  He 
loved  the  picturesque  in  agriculture,  and  arranged 
his  fields  in  the  finest  taste.  He  prided  himself  in 
sowing  and  reaping  a  week  before  his  neighbors, 
and  boasted  the  best-blooded  horses,  the  handsom- 
est cattle,  the  fairest  flint  wheat,  and  the  soundest 
yellow  corn  of  any  raised  in  Sydney.  The  minis- 
ter loved  to  visit  him ;  and  laborers  loved  to  work 
for  him. 

Then  there  was  a  rich  man,  old  Mr.  Wayland, 
and  he  had  a  little  nephew  in  his  bachelor's  hall, 
named  William  Pitt  Po])injay,  who  had  been  given 
in  charge  of  Mr.  "VVayland's  house-keeper,  with 
the  old  man's  promise  returned  that  he  would 
make  Willian  Pitt  an  heir  of  most  of  his  wealth. 

The  Waxwoods  were  next  on  the  road.  Dr. 
Waxwood  settled  in  Sj'dncy  when  he  began  to 
practice,  and  had  secured  a  good  business,  and  made 
a  good  deal  of  money.  He  was  not  very  learned, 
for  although  he  talked  like  a  scholar,  citing  authors 
and  quoting  Latin,  it  was  said  that  he  was  indolent 


THE     foundling's     HOME.  41 

at  school,  and  would  not  have  obtained  liis  diplo- 
ma, except  on  the  strength  of  an  oyster-supper  and 
champagne,  to  which  he  treated  the  committee  of 
examination. 

He  had  an  alhteration  of  remedies  which  com- 
pleted the  list  of  his  prescriptions,  and  the  famihes 
of  Sydney  who  sent  for  him,  knew  they  had  to 
expect  either  bleeding,  blistering,  Bateman's  Drops, 
or  blue  pills. 

He  was  a  stout,  swarthy  person,  with  a  short 
neck,  flat,  bald  head,  that  glistened  like  a  jug,  a 
great  gTcedy  eye, — a  nose  that  curved  and  opened 
its  nostrils  like  a  conch -shell ;  a  set  of  stout,  irreg- 
ular teeth  dyed  brown  with  tobacco,  and  a  wide 
mouth  "wdth  flabby  Hps  that  warped  with  sarcasm, 
and  watered  with  sensuahty. 

Mrs.  Waxwood  was  one  of  your  loud-talking 
women,  who  took  special  charge  of  all  the  scandal 
in  Sydney,  and  attempted  to  lead  the  fashions,  and 
sway  the  minds  of  her  sex.  She  was  full  of  im- 
portance at  sewing-circles  and  donation-parties,  and 
said,  "the  Doctor  loved  this,"  and  "the  Doctor  did 
that,"  as  if  she  regarded  him  the  oracle,  or  feared 
he  might  be  forgotten,  or  not  honored,  among  the 
first  in  town.  She  abhorred  abohtion  and  hated 
"m^^ers,"  because,  "she  knew  if  they  were  all  let 
loose  among  us,  amalgamations  would  follow,  and 
no  respectable  lady  would  be  safe."  She  loved 
spit-curls  better  than  Mrs.  Sumner  did  her  tulips ; 


42  THE   foundling's   home. 

and  she  wore  two  on  her  forehead,  while  a  long 
curl  dangled  before  each  ear.  She  was  fond  of 
blood-red  ribbons,  and  bracelets  and  rings,  and 
ruffles  and  flounces ;  and  while  every  article  of 
her  wardrobe  had  a  tarnished  or  soiled  appearance, 
it  showed  a  fair  symbol  of  her  heart. 

The  Waxwoods  had  a  daughter,  Andalusia, 
and  she  was  a  bud  that  was  opening  leaf  after  leaf, 
like  the  parent  flowers. 

Then  there  were  the  Mays  and  Gordons  ;  the 
Trexlars  of  the  tavern ;  the  widow  Chubb  and  her 
children,  Parson  Dilworth  and  his  family.  Squire 
Melvin's  peojjle,  Deacon  Maxy's,  Colonel  Fargo's, 
and  others. 

Arthur  Sumner  was  taken  to  his  new  home 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  ;  and  he  sobbed 
so  sadly,  and  looked  so  faint  and  weary,  Mrs.  Tyler 
laid  him  on  her  softest  bed,  and  soothed  him  to 
sleep.  She  knew  it  would  all  pass  ofl"  smoothly 
with  her  husband  for  a  few  days,  if  she  was  free- 
hearted with  the  bo}'-,  and  she  took  much  pains  to 
prepare  a  supper  that  he  would  relish  best.  His 
countenance  was  brighter  when  he  sat  down  to  that 
meal,  and  he  retired  at  night  and  slept  soundly ; 
though  at  times  he  started  from  his  sweet  repose, 
threw  up  his  arms,  and  murmured  as  if  frightened 
by  a  fearful  dream. 

In  a  few  days  he  was  wonted  to  his  new  home, 
and  began  to  talk  so  that  all  could  understand  him. 


THE     foundling's    HOME.  43 

Again  and  again  he  was  questioned  on  the  mys- 
tery of  his  exile,  but  his  recollections  were  faint 
and  confused,  while  he  seemed  to  hold  a  slight  idea 
of  a  mother  in  his  mind,  and  of  woods  around  her 
home,  and  he  tried  to  remember  what  she  called 
him. 

Mrs.  Sumner  gave  him  the  handsome  little  suit 
in  which  she  first  clothed  him,  and  Mrs.  Tyler 
made  him  some  clothes  for  every-day  wear,  and 
laid  those  by  in  a  chest  for  spare-day.  Mr,  Tyler, 
for  some  time,  treated  him  kindly,  though  briefly, 
and  Jane  was  good  to  him,  while  he  and  Jason 
brought  the  cows,  and  ran  on  errands  together  for 
a  time,  with  a  good  understanding.  Tn  a  month, 
he  went  to  school  and  began  to  learn  his  letters. 
In  the  autumn  he  could  pick  up  potatoes  for  Mr. 
Tyler ;  and  Mrs.  Sumner,  and  Martha,  and  George, 
came  often  to  see  him,  while  Billy  Bronk  felt  that 
he  had  a  right  to  look  after  the  pretty  shaver,  talk 
with  him,  and  take  him  home,  as  he  was  the  man 
that  snatched  him  from  the  teeth  of  the  terrible 
storm. 

A  year,  and  then  two  years  passed  away,  and 
Arthur  Sumner  had  grown  to  a  very  fine  youth, 
retaining,  yet  ripening  all  his  agreeable  features, 
unfolding  a  pride  of  commendable  spirit,  having 
many  thoughts  and  aptitudes;  light  and  lithe  in 
his  step  as  a  panther,  largely  loving  approbation, 
and  sensitive  and  full  in  all  quick  and  ardent  feel- 


44  THE   foundling's  home. 

ings.  Mrs.  Tyler  had  done  all  in  her  power  to 
make  him  happy  and  improve  his  mind.  She  en- 
couraged him  when  her  words  were  sweeter  than  the 
morning  light,  and  she  granted  him  favors  of  which 
none  of  the  family  knew.  He  loved  Mrs.  Tyler 
with  his  whole  heart,  and  thought  she  resembled 
the  faint  floating  image  of  a  mother  which  still 
passed  through  hLs  mind. 

He  did  not  hate  Mr.  Tyler.  Did  not  Mr.  Tyler 
feed  him,  and  shelter  him,  and  give  him  clothes 
and  a  dowTiy  bed?  Yet,  he  had  a  decided  prefer- 
ence for  Mrs.  Tyler.  Mr.  Tyler  often  scolded  him 
when  he  had  tried  to  do  his  best.  He  was  done 
watching  for  a  smile  on  Mr.  Tyler's  face,  or  a  fond 
word  from  his  lips.  Mr.  Tyler  did  not  let  him  go 
to  school  as  much  as  Jane  and  Jason,  and  made 
him  go  barefooted  after  the  cows  on  frosty  morn- 
ings, and  because  he  stood  on  a  sunshiny  stone  to 
warm  his  feet  when  he  could  not  tough  it  longer, 
Mr.  Tyler  reproached  him,  and  accused  him  of 
loitering  to  play  by  the  way.  Mr.  Tyler  reproach- 
ed him  in  the  presence  of  company,  and  wounded' 
the  pride  of  his  emulous  heart.  Mr.  T^^ler  remind- 
ed him  of  his  orphanage,  and  asked  him  how  he 
would  fare  at  the  poor-house,  or  in  the  streets. 
And  he  had  tasks  too  heavy,  and  trials  too  hard, 
for  a  little  boy  to  bear,  and  had  it  not  been  for  his 
good  mistress  his  tender  heart  would  have  broken. 

He  had  a  Barlow  knife  that  Mrs.  Sumner  gave 


THE    foundling's    HOME.  45 

Mm,  and  the  present  of  a  hatchet  and  gimlet  from 
Billy  Bronk  ;  and  he  whittled  and  hewed  when  he 
could,  loving  to  work  in  pine  and  oak,  and  making 
sleds,  kites,  and  wind-mills ;  but  he  had  to  enjoy 
his  love  when  he  should  have  been  at  school, 
or  at  rest,  for  Mr.  Tyler  broke  his  work  sometimes, 
or  burned  it,  and  always  scolded,  and  often  boxed 
his  ears,  for  wasting  pine,  and  tinkering,  when  he 
ought  to  have  done  something  else ;  and  he  drop- 
ped his  poor  head  half-killed  by  the  chastisement, 
and  was  sad  and  sick  at  heart. 

And  Jason  often  used  him  very  ill.  Jason's 
passions  were  so  many  flaming  fires,  and  he  would 
fly  into  a  rage  in  a  moment,  and  kick  and  bite  him 
for  the  most  trifling  offence.  He  would  run  to  his 
father  with  lying  tales ;  he  would  run  away  from 
Arthur  in  the  woods,  and  in  the  dark ;  he  would 
get  his  knife  and  hatchet,  and  dull  and  hide  them  ; 
he  would  coax  away  the  pennies  the  people  gave 
him,  and  spend  them  for  powder,  and  for  raisins, 
and  cinnamon,  in  which  he  never  allowed  Arthur 
to  share ;  he  would  crowd  him  to  the  bed-rail  at 
night  and  make  him  sleep  on  it,  while  he  had  the 
whole  bed  to  himself;  he  would  call  him  a  beggar- 
boy,  and  an  Indian  boy,  and  say  he  was  lousy 
when  he  came  there  ;  and  tried  to  make  all  the 
boys  hate  him  and  treat  him  ill. 

Jane  was  much  better  than  Jason.  She  took  his 
part  when  Jason  abused  him  ;  she  helped  him  per- 


46  THE  foundling's  home. 

form  bis  tasks  and  get  his  lessons ;  she  told  him 
not  to  feci  bad  because  he  had  no  home  ;  she 
played  with  him,  and  coaxed  favors  from  her  father 
for  him ;  yet  she  liked  to  have  him  obey  her,  and 
when  Mrs.  Tyler  got  for  Arthur  anything  new,  she 
complained  because  it  was  not  given  to  her,  that 
she  might  dress  as  well  as  her  cousin  Ophelia. 

Little  Sydney  was  now  nearly  three  years  old, 
and  Arthur's  whole  heart  was  bound  up  in  him. 
lie  was  a  very  lovely  boy.  He  was  a  half-and-half 
compound  of  his  father  and  mother's  being ;  but 
fortunately  for  himself,  his  form  was  his  father's, 
Avhile  his  soul  was  his  mother's. 

His  hair  had  now  come  forward,  and  it  Avas  a 
glowing  auburn,  and  though  they  cut  it  without 
taste,  and  Avere  sure  to  clip  it  to  the  quick  in 
front ;  leave  it  long  behind,  and  have  the  ear-locks 
uneven  ;  people  forgot  the  cut  after  all  in  the  tint 
and  texture  of  the  hair,  and  in  the  charms  of  his 
cherub  features. 

His  eyes  Avere  still  soft,  and  emitted  a  strange  and 
fascinating  lustre,  AA'hich  seemed  to  shine  from  hea- 
ven. His  apple-cheeks  Avere  cool  and  sweet,  and 
would  not  take  a  freckle  from  the  sun.  He  had  a 
rounded  forehead,  catching  instant  perceptions  and 
retaining  all  it  caught.  He  was  quick  as  a  quail, 
and  his  A^oice  was  as  glad,  and  his  song  as  sweet  as 
the  blue-bird's  morning  note. 

He  took  to  Arthur  from  first  sight,  and  there 


THE    foundling's    HOME.  47 

was  no  one  on  eartli,  beside  his  mother,  that  he 
loved  half  as  well.  They  shared  their  playthings 
in  common,  and  if  ever  a  dispute  arose,  it  was  to 
hand  back  the  greater  kindness  which  each  on  the 
other  urged.  As  soon  as  Sydne}^  could  run  alone, 
Arthur  had  his  hand  in  his,  leading  him  wherever 
his  limber  legs  could  go,  and  carrying  him,  when 
Sydney  was  tired,  till  they  both  sunk  down  ex- 
hausted. They  slept  together  now.  They  built  cob- 
houses,  and  braided  straw  together.  They  tumbled 
and  leaped  on  the  grass  when  the  dandelions  blew. 
They  went  to  the  woods  and  seemed  never  enough 
to  look  at  their  beauties,  or  hear  their  songs. 
Sydney  could  tell  the  notes  of  a  dozen  birds,  and 
the  names  of  twenty  trees,  before  he  was  six 
years  old,  and  he  sat  and  looked  at  the  flowers  and 
trees,  and  woods,  and  waters,  and  skies,  and  the 
faces  of  his  friends,  as  if  taking  their  Hghts  and 
forms  in  daguerreotype  pictures  on  his  heart,  and  ex- 
pecting before  another  day,  to  close  his  eyes  forever. 

Sydney's  smile  and  laugh  were  Mrs.  Tyler's  life, 
and  Arthur's  joy  and  comfort. 

But  Arthur,  notwithstanding,  saw  many  hours 
of  grief  Mr.  Tyler  began  to  tell  him  he  should 
learn  his  master's  trade  by-and-by,  and  that  made 
him  unhappy,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  be  in  the 
shoe-shop,  while  he  loved  to  work  in  wood,  and 
Billy  Bronk,  and  others,  declared  that  he  ought  to 
go  to  the  trade  for   which  he   was   gifted.     He 


48         THE  foundling's   home. 

would  rather  hoe  corn  than  make  shoes,  and  loved 
to  handle  his  gimlet  and  hatchet  better  than  a 
hoe. 

The  poor  boy  saw  many  hours  whose  grief  Mrs. 
Tyler  could  not  soothe,  and  Sydney  could  not  com- 
fort with  a  kiss.  He  wished,  in  an  agony  of  long- 
ings, that  a  father  would  come  and  claim  him  ;  and 
wept  till  midnight  after  some  new  sorrow  had  been 
forced  upon  his  heart. 


IV. 

LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS. 

At  ten  years  of  age,  Ai^thur  Sumner  had  not 
learned  a  word  of  his  parents  or  home,  and  he 
remained  in  the  same  situation,  about  the  same 
boy  he  was  when  our  last  chapter  left  him,  except 
that  everybody  told  him  he  grew  like  a  weed.  His 
good  looks  lost  nothing  by  age,  although  Mrs. 
Golden  had  predicted  that  he  would  have  an  ugly 
nose,  and  his  second  teeth  would  be  spikes  and 
shovels.  His  nose  grew  more  handsome  than  any 
that  had  the  curve  and  lift  of  the  Goldens ;  and  his 
teeth  were  neither  spikes  nor  shovels,  but  small 
and  even,  as  you  would  not  see  six  sets  in  ten ; 
and  they  were  white  as  laurel  blossoms,  and  stood 
in  little  spaces  on  the  finest  crimson  gums. 

A  glance  at  his  head  now  made  Mrs.  Golden 
confess  that  he  was  not  a  paddy  child,  nor  a  half- 
breed  Indian.  Not  a  dimple  had  left  his  face,  and 
the  heaviest  burden  had  not  bowed  his  little  manly 
form,  while  his  feet  grew  in  better  shape  than  one 

3 


60  LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS. 

coiild  expect  without  shoes,  his  ejcs  sparkled  no 
less  spirit  for  being  blue,  and  his  breath  was  sweet 
as  the  heifer's  that  had  fed  all  day  on  clover. 

Bashfulness  was  ingrained  with  his  heart,  and  it 
grew  with  his  growth.  He  fluttered  lilce  a  fright- 
ened bird  at  shocks  which  Jason  bore  Avith  bravado. 
Thej  could  hardly  allure  him  to  a  strange  table  to 
eat,  or  into  the  house  when  Mrs.  Tyler  had  com- 
pany ;  his  tender  heart  grew  more  and  more  sensi- 
tive, and  was  often  cut  to  the  quick  by  some 
unmeaning  word  which  another  would  not  have 
noticed. 

He  began  to  dislike  Mr.  Tyler  and  Jason,  they 
so  often  repulsed  his  clinging  heart,  and  wounded 
his  fine  feelings.  He  was  not  too  proud-spirited ; 
he  was  not  vain ;  yet  he  withered  and  grieved 
when  driven  to  a  chore  or  task,  and  when  teased 
or  trampled  ;  doing  the  chore  with  a  lagging  hand  ; 
while  he  would  straighten  and  kindle  at  a  smile,  or 
an  applauding  word,  and  was  ready  to  run  his 
'heels  off  for  any  one  who  kindly  asked  a  service. 

Mrs.  Tyler  made  large  amends  for  her  husband 
and  son's  unkindness ;  she  yearned  upon  him  now 
as  on  her  own,  and  he  loved  her  as  he  fancied  he 
would  love  a  mother.  He  and  Sydney  also  remain- 
ed the  best  of  friends.  His  love  of  beauty  had 
been  filled  from  Sydney's  face  and  form,  if  unal- 
lured  by  any  moral  charms  ;  for  Sydney  had  a  look 
from  which  art  and  taste  would  have  taken  new 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  51 

inspiration  and  joy.  His  eyes  emitted  more  and 
more  of  that  rare  celestial  lustre  we  have  named, 
and  were  encircled  with  an  iris  such  as  we  have 
seen  shimmer  and  palpitate  in  a  pure  and  melting 
summer  sky.  His  cheeks  ripened  up  to  a  charm 
which  we  fancy  a  cherub  might  wear,  and  his 
mouth,  and  neck,  and  chest,  and  hmbs,  were  very 
beautiful.  And  what  was  better  still,  these  out- 
ward beauties  did  but  simply  type  the  beauties  of 
Sydney's  heart  and  soul. 

He  was  made  to  love,  and  made  to  know.  His 
heart  overflowed  on  every  genial  thing.  His  per- 
ceptions were  keen,  his  memory  was  strong,  and  he 
seemed  to  imbibe  beauty,  and  truth,  and  love, 
through  every  sense  and  pore. 

Arthur  was  bound  to  Sydney  by  silken  cords 
that  wound  them  in  stronger  and  closer  webs,  and 
he  felt  at  times  in  the  sweet  boy's  presence,  and 
smile,  and  word,  as  if  haunted  by  a  spirit  from  on 
high. 

When  Sydney  had  failed  to  comfort  him,  Arthur 
forgot  his  grief  if  George  and  Martha  Sumner  came 
to  see  him.  George  was  so  kind  and  joyous,  and 
Martha  was  so  sweet  a  being,  kindling  all  warmly 
with  sympathetic  heats,  filling  him  with  hope 
and  courage  by  her  artless  and  ardent  friendship, 
how  could  they  fail  to  rejoice  him  when  they  came? 

He  had  happy  hours  with  Mrs.  Tyler  and  Jane. 
He  loved  to  help  Jane  quill,  and  hand  ends  to  Mrs. 


52  LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

Tyler  wlien  taking  pieces  into  the  loom.  He  en- 
joyed delicious  hours  when  he  could  ramble  away 
with  Sydney,  or  alone,  and  bury  himself  in  the  red- 
blown  clover,  and  hear  the  quails  whistle  from  the 
oatlands,  and  the  bobohnks  trill  their  triumphant 
quavers.  He  loved  to  hear  the  waterfalls  in  the 
morning,  and  walk  in  the  wood-path  at  sun-set  and 
drink  the  swamp-robin's  song.  Yet  the  music  of 
the  birds,  while  it  flooded  his  heart  with  thoughts 
and  feehngs,  which  at  once  were  society  and  joy 
he  fairly  gloried  to  share,  awakened  him  often  to 
melancholy  moods,  made  him  sigh  for  a  rounder 
life  and  distincter  lip  of  that  feint  floating  image 
of  a  mother  which  smiled  upon  his  dreams, 

K  it  prove  for  this  young  creature's  good  in  the 
end,  to  have  suffered  as  he  did  in  that  cruel  eccen- 
tricity of  fortune,  we  shall  rejoice  in  his  joy  as  we 
have  wept  in  his  grief.  But  the  mystery  of  that 
evil  gives  us  trouble  now,  and  it  is  hard  to  contem- 
plate what  he  had  to  endure  and  do. 

The  cupidity  of  his  master  seemed  to  increase  as 
his  little  hands  strengthened  to  perform  larger 
tasks,  and  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  more  he  did, 
the  less  he  might  hope  for  a  favor  or  a  smile  from 
Mr.  Tyler.  It  was  "  run  Arthur  here,"  and  "  run 
Arthur  there,"  and  when  he  ran  and  did  his  chore, 
as  Billy  Bronk  said,  in  less  than  no  time,  he  was 
accused  of  loitering  and  letting  the  grass  grow 
under  his  lazy  feet. 


LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS.  63 

He  was  willing  to  work  on  the  farm,  and  did 
not  despise  any  kind  of  labor;  but  he  did  wish 
to  go  to  school,  when  he  saw  Jane,  Jason,  and 
Sydney  in  their  clean  attire,  with  satchel  and  books, 
and  smiling  faces,  singing  away  to  the  school- 
house  ;  and  he  leaned  on  his  hoe  and  wept,  as  they 
bounded  out  of  sight.  But  Mrs.  Tyler  would  have 
him  go  a  little,  even  in  the  summer,  and  she  dressed 
him  neatly  as  the  others ;  and  kept  telling  her 
husband  that  Sydney  learned  fast  enough,  when 
Arthur  went  with  him  and  sat  by  his  side,  to  pay 
for  his  time  and  tuition,  summer  and  winter. 

Mrs.  Tyler  would  have  been  glad  to  give  Arthur 
what  she  did  all  the  others,  a  boiled  egg^  and  some 
pie,  to  eat  after  his  bread  and  butter.  But  that  she 
could  not  often  do,  unless  by  decei^ang  Mr.  Tyler. 
Going  those  few  days,  however,  Arthur  managed 
to  keep  ahead  of  Jason,  while  the  three  winter 
months  took  him  all  out  of  sight  of  Jane,  and 
ahead  of  Ophelia  Golden  and  Andalusia  Waxwood. 
No  scholar  in  school  was  so  hungry  for  knowledge 
^l^as  he,  and  none  learned  so  fast,  especially  in  arith- 
metic, except  Sydney  Tyler,  who  seemed  possessed 
of  some  clairvoyant  power,  to  search  every  mind 
in  school  and  transfer  its  ideas  and  its  wisdom  to 
his  own  intuitive  soul. 

What  Mrs.  Tyler  desired  to  give  Arthur  for 
dinner  was  liberally  furnished  him  at  school. 
Children  are  not  often  selfish,  if  left  to  their  own 


54  LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS. 

loving  instincts,  and  you  will  not  find  five  hearts 
among  a  score  of  them  who  would  not  share  their 
dinner  with  any  child  of  need. 

Most  of  the  children  loved  Arthur,  and  rejoiced 
to  see  him  at  the  head  of  his  class,  while  Betsey 
Bronk  gave  him  a  piece  of  fried  fish,  Celestia  Sum- 
merton  gave  him  half  a  doughnut,  Yolney,  an 
apple,  Crispus  Trexlar  the  yolk  of  a  hard-boiled 
egg,  Martha  Sumner  a  big  piece  of  pie,  and'Sydney 
Tyler  as  much  of  his  dinner  as  he  would  take. 
And  for  a  bundle  of  cat-tail  flags  as  large  as  his 
wrist,  cut  in  the  swamp  while  after  the  cows,  he 
could  any  time  get  two  or  three  pears,  and  often, 
three  plums  and  a  peach  in  the  bargain. 

He  never  got  a  crumb  from  Andalusia  Wax  wood, 
and  seldom  from  Ophelia  Golden.  They  did  not 
like  him,  Andalusia  loved  to  tell  tales  about  him 
to  the  teacher,  and  pinch  him  when  he  did  not  see 
her,  to  enjoy  the  screams  his  sensitive  heart  would 
utter ;  and  if  he  went  near  Ophelia  to  warm  him- 
self at  the  fire,  in  winter,  while  others  were  glad  to 
give  him  a  warm  corner,  Ophelia  would  remind 
him  of  a  Golden  nose,  without  lifting  her  own 
much  higher,  and  say,  "I  won't  stand  by  Od  Sum- 
ner, he's  got  the  itch,  for  I  smell  brimstone." 

But  when  the  spelling-schools  came  on  the  fair 
moon-lit  evenings,  and  the  warm  school-house  was 
thronged  with  emulous  girls  and  boys,  in  all  their 
holiday  attire,  and   Arthur  Sumner   and   Crispus 


LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS.  55 

Trexlar  chose  sides,  and  a  boy  and  a  girl,  a  boy 
and  a  girl  intercbangeably,  like  the  bells  and 
pomegranates  on  the  garment-hems  of  the  Jewish 
high-priest's  robe,  formed  a  shining  circle  around 
the  house,  there  were  beautiful  hearts  that  palpi- 
tated toward  our  hero,  and  Martha  Sumner  blush- 
ed at  the  call,  and  then  bounded  with  joy  to  spell 
at  his  right  hand. 

Arthur  had  several  enemies.  There  was  one 
boy  darker  than  he  who  said — "  he  had  nigger  in 
him,"  because  he  had  curly  hair;  another  cried, 
"he's  got  bo'-n'-arrow  blood,  father  says  so;"  that 
is,  he  was  part  Indian  ;  another  cried,  "fool's  cap!" 
when  he  wore  a  red  sugar-loaf  cap  that  Mrs. 
Tyler  made  to  come  down  warmly  over  his  ears ; 
and  a  broad-waisted,  big-footed,  flax-haired  girl, 
Diaduma  Truck,  thought  herself  keener  than  all 
the  rest,  when  she  gabbled  out  with  her  great  goose 
voice — "  Oddy  Sumner's  a  paddy  drummer!" 

Then  the  fire  flashed  from  Sydney  Tyler's  eyes, 
and  he  wished  to  tread  upon  the  tantalizing  trollop ; 
then  his  feelings  overcame  him  and  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  But  Betsey  Bronk  stepped  up  and 
cried,  "  O  dear  Miss  Dumie  Trucklecart,  he's  good's 
you  be,  I  guess  !  You'd  better  truckle  your  load 
of  feet  home,  and  look  in  the  glass  for  beauty !" 
And  the  titter  turned  on  Dumie,  while  Martha 
Sumner  whispered  to  Arthur  not  to  feel  bad,  for 
he  was  gooder  and  handsomer  than  any  one  that 


56  LIGnTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

plagued  liim  ;  and  then  slie  turned  away  and  wept 
pitiful  tears  for  liim,  without  father,  mother,  and 
home,  as  he  was,  and  grieved  by  such  cruel  treat- 
ment. 

Arthur  had  not  a  lazy  hair  on  his  head.  Young 
as  he  was,  he  did  a  great  deal  for  Mr.  Tyler,  who 
was  profiting  by  his  bargain  with  the  magistrates. 
He  was  willing  to  do,  and  Billy  Bronk  said  he  was 
spry  as  a  cat,  and  twice  as  faithful.  He  was  will- 
ing to  ride  horse  to  plough  out  corn ;  but  it  was 
very  hard  to  ride  all  day  long  on  a  knotty  harness, 
blister  his  shoulders  in  the  burning  sun,  go  thirsty 
half  the  time  for  water,  and  be  scolded  if  the 
plough  jumped  from  the  furrow  and  tore  up  a 
hill,  or  the  horse  trampled  a  blade,  or  nipped  a  leaf 
while  turning. 

Arthur's  mechanical  genius  showed  more  and 
more.  He  loved  to  work  in  wood  best.  He  often 
stole  away  and  watched  the  carpenters,  while 
building  Dr.  "Waxwood's  house.  He  loved  to  see 
the  ribbons  roll  from  their  planes,  and  tbe}^  let 
him  try  to  shove  one.  He  admired  the  handsome 
ogee  mouldings  they  dressed  out  for  cornices  and 
casings.  He  loved  the  scent  of  the  birchen  timbers 
and  sweet  pine  boards.  He  knew  he  should  delight 
to  nail  on  the  yellow  clap-boards,  and  sit  and 
shingle  on  the  lofty  roof.  The  heavy  work  of  the 
framers  even  attracted  his  desire,  and  while  Daniel 
Dale  bowed  his  honest  back  to  a  stick  of  timber, 


LIGHTS     AND     SHADOWS.  57 

and  hewed  it  straight  and  smooth  as  a  ruler,  he 
loved  to  stand  and  see  his  manly  strokes,  and 
hear  the  music  of  his  ringing  broad-axe. 

He  would  go  home  with  blocks  and  pieces  of 
moulding,  and  manufacture  small  cabinet-ware. 
He  made  a  stand  for  Jane's  pin-cushion,  and  a  table 
for  her  toilet.  He  made  a  box  for  quills,  and 
one  for  spools,  and  one  for  wax.  He  made  a  chest 
which  Mr.  Tyler  bid  him  give  to  Jason,  who  cov- 
ered it  with  chip-squirrel  skins,  and  finished  a 
pretty  thing  of  it.  He  made  handsome  chalk 
copies  of  the  Grecian  temples  and  Chinese  pagodas, 
that  were  pictured  on  Mrs,  Tyler's  plates,  and  fan- 
cied he  found  their  archetypes  in  the  oak,  and  in 
the  hemlock  woods.  He  framed  a  little  house,  and 
it  looked  really  well  for  the  work  of  a  lad  so  young. 
There  was  not  a  mistake  in  a  mortice,  the  tenons 
were  all  true  as  a  Barlow  knife  could  pave  them, 
the  sleepers  and  beams  were  level ;  and  he  had 
two  pairs  of  rafters  well-locked  and  set,  when  Mr. 
Tyler  discovered  it,  and  yielding  to  a  passion 
because  Arthur  had  forgotten  to  water  old  Cluck 
and  her  chickens  that  morning,  he  kicked  it  to 
pieces  and  sent  him  with  singing  ears  and  a  swell- 
ing heart  to  ride  horse  for  Mr.  Summerton. 

Arthur  continued,  as  he  could  steal  opportunity, 
to  do  sums  and  trace  lines  and  circles  on  the  cham- 
ber floor,  and  work  in  wood,  while  Mr.  Tyler  con- 
tinued to  scold,  and  said  he  was  always  tinkering 
3* 


58  LIGUTS    AND     SHADOWS. 

with  his  gimlet  and  knife  ;  but  he  could  never  see 
him  with  an  awl  or  waxed  end,  although  he  knew 
he  could  begin  to  try  his  hand  in  leather  if  he  was 
not  so  contrary.  When  Arthur  could  not  do  any- 
thing else,  Mr.  Tyler  would  keep  him  in  his  shop 
very  often,  to  hand  pegs  to  him  and  watch  his 
work,  that  he  might  not  be  awkward  as  a  moose 
when  he  came  to  the  trade ;  and  he  studied  self- 
interest  wisely;  for  shoe-makin'g  was  lucrative  in 
Sydney,  and  the  earlier  Arthur  got  the  trade  the 
more  he  could  earn  for  his  master. 

But  the  boy's  heart  was  not  enlisted.  Mr.  Tyler 
told  him  a  pauper-boy  need  not  feel  above  a  trade 
in  which  some  great  men  had  been  accomplished. 
Mr.  Tyler  stood  upon  his  dignity  as  it  well  became 
him  to  stand,  and  he  could  have  added  to  his  argu- 
ment the  words  of  the  cobbler  in  Jvilius  Ctesar,  "  As 
proper  men  as  ever  trod  upon  neat's  leather,  have 
gone  upon  my  handy-work."  But  the  argument 
would  not  have  persuaded  Arthur  Sumner  to  be  a 
shoe-maker.  He  did  not  know  wdiat  it  was  to  feel 
above  any  work  that  was  not  wicked.  But  he  did 
not  like  to  be  shut  up  in  a  narrow  shoe-shop.  He 
did  not  like  to  sit  so  much ;  it  would  be  a  torment 
if  he  tried  it ;  and  though  he  could  use  the  awl 
and  waxed-end,  and  sew  a  very  straight  and  hand- 
some seam,  he  could  not  love  to  do  it ;  and  it 
made  him  very  sad  to  be  told  he  might  as  well 
settle   the   question  first   as   last,   for  if  he  lived 


LIGHTS     AND    SHADOWS.  59 

till   he    was    twenty-one,    he    should  be   a  shoe- 
maker. 

Mrs.  Tyler  watched  her  husband,  and  when  she 
happened  to  see  him  anywhere  near  a  smile,  she 
said,  "Do,  Mr.  Tyler,  do  tell  Arthur  he  may  go  to 
the  trade  of  his  own  choice  when  he  is  old  enough. 
He  dislikes  your  trade  so  much,  I  would  not  grieve 
him  telling  him  he  must  learn  it.  You  will  have 
your  pay  and  profit  if  you  let  him  go  for  himself 
at  fourteen,  he  is  such  a  good  boy.  But  even  if 
you  take  his  wages,  I  would  let  him  learn  another 
trade,  he  will  be  so  much  happier,  and  it  will  be  so 
much  better  for  him."  But  Mrs.  Tyler  always 
received  a  brief  and  negative  answer.  Billy  Bronk 
was  blunt  enough  to  tell  Mr.  Tyler,  that  he  would 
not  treat  a  paddy's  dog  as  he  had  treated  Oddy 
Sumner ;  but  Billy  made  it  all  the  harder  for  the 
boy,  and  he  was  told  again  and  again,  he  would  be 
thanked  to  attend  to  his  own  "privateering." 

Mr.  Tyler  still  attended  Parson  Dilworth's 
church  every  Sunday,  though  the  good  minister 
told  his  people  some  very  pointed  and  practical 
truths,  and  while  several  hearers  who  were  willinsr 
to  take  home  their  own  share  of  reproof,  knew  he 
often  hit  Mr.  Tyler,  he  always  complimented  those 
hitting  sermons  most,  and  said  he  could  see  who 
colored  and  winked  while  the  hot  shots  were 
flying. 

He    still    talked    every   winter  of  joining  the 


60  LIGHTS    AND     SHADOWS. 

churcli.  He  kept  a  run  of  wliat  the  missionaries, 
without  his  aid,  by  GocVs  gracious  help,  were  doing 
among  the  heathen.  He  was  full  of  importance  at 
all  society  meetings  ;  he  was  glad  to  see  otliers 
contribute,  and  never  failed,  after  meeting,  to  look 
into  the  box  and  learn  how  well  they  had  done. 
He  often  said,  in  respect  to  the  minister's  salary, 
"  Well,  well,  the  parson  must  have  his  pay,  and  if 
subscriptions  and  collections  come  short,  we  must 
put  our  hands  in  our  pockets."  "But,  Avill  you 
take  any  thing  out  of  your  pocket?"  asked  Deacon 
Maxy,  who  had  never  known  Mr.  Tyler  to  contri- 
bute. 

Mr.  Tyler  was  often  saying  what  a  perfect 
woman  a  minister's  wife  should  be ;  how  careful 
she  should  be  to  speak  to  every  one  after  meeting, 
whether  they  came  to  her  or  stood  far  aloof,  or 
rushed  out  of  the  house  before  she  had  a  chance. 
How  careful  she  should  be  to  contradict  no  one's 
opinion  ;  how  continually  she  should  visit,  whether 
others  called  on  her  or  not,  and  how  -tidy  she 
should  be  with  her  house,  and  her  children.  He 
was  sometimes  displeased  with  Mrs.  Dilworth,  she 
wanted  to  be  so  independent. 

He  kept  Arthur  going  to  church  as  he  ought, 
and  it  was  no  grief  to  the  boy  on  warm  summer 
Sabbaths  to  go  bare-footed.  He  loved, to  hear  Par- 
son Dilworth,  This  excellent  clergyman  was  or- 
dained  in   Sydney,   and  had  been  pastor  of  the 


LIGHTS     AXD     SHADOWS.  61 

church  in  that  town  about  twenty-five  years.  He 
was  a  robust  person,  of  medium  height,  witli  a  full ' 
and  pleasant  face,  a  florid  countenance,  genial  eye, 
and  very  deep,  rich,  and  musical  voice.  He  held  a 
creed  of  the  sternest  articles,  and  he  preached  it 
with  all  the  force  of  its  terror  when  denouncing 
selfishness,  h}^ocrisy,  and  pride ;  but  his  heart 
flowed  with  pity  for  many  poor  transgressors,  and 
melted  in  the  smile  of  a  little  child ;  and  he  was 
always  most  eloquent  in  the  sick  chamber,  and 
while  comforting  mourning  souls.  He  illustrated 
his  sermons  with  fresh  and  stirring  analogies  from 
nature  and  human  life^  He  thought  more  of  add- 
ing to  the  life  and  happiness  of  his  people,  than 
adding  members  to  his  church.  He  put  his  eye  on 
every  little  child  as  soon  as  it  was  bom,  and 
studied  its  character,  engaged  its  heart,  and  sought 
by  a  thousand  loving  allurements  to  lead  it  up  to 
virtue,  intelligence,  and  evangelical  faith.  In  short, 
had  some  modern  Zeuxis  attempted  to  paint  his 
moral  face  and  form,  he  would  have  given  him  the 
best  traits  of  Dryden's  Good  Parson,  Longfellow's 
Pastor  of  Acadia,  Bulwer's  Missionary,  and  Gold- 
smith's Village  Preacher.  Arthur  Sumner  could 
understand  Parson  Dilworth,  and  there  was  so 
much  kindness  on  his  face  and  in  his  voice,  and 
he  pleaded  so  warmly  for  all  the  afflicted,  he  won 
Arthur's  heart,  and  cheered  him  with  hope  and 
comfort. 


V. 

THE    SEWING    BEE. 

Arthur  Sumner  and  the  Tyler  children  were 
always  glad  when  their  mother  had  company. 
Mr.  Tyler  loved  to  make  a  respectable  appearance, 
and  when  neighbors  came  not  too  often,  he  desired 
his  good  wife  to  put  the  best  side  out,  and  treat 
them  to  the  best  the  house  afforded.  And  she 
need  not  scrimp  the  children  at  such  times  either, 
for  he  would  have  it  understood  that  he  esteemed 
his  children,  Arthur  not  excepted  ;  and  when  visi- 
tors came,  the  boys'  tasks  were  lightened,  and  he, 
with  the  others,  got  something  better  to  eat. 

Mr.  Tyler  would  manage  to  make  the  most  of 
visiting,  however,  and  when  it  came  his  wife's  turn 
to  invite  her  neighbors,  he  counseled  her  to  make  a 
sewing  bee,  or  quilting,  which  could  not  hinder  con- 
versation, and  would  leave  them,  when  over,  no 
poorer  for  giving  a  tea.  She,  of  course,  always 
yielded  to  his  wishes,  if  she  wanted  any  comfort  of 


THE     SEWING     BEE.  63 

the  visit,  thougli  slie  desired  to  do  like  other  folks, 
and  not  get  too  largely  in  debt  for  their  kindnesses 
to  her. 

She  made  a  sewing  bee.  It  was  on  an  afternoon 
in  May.  The  sky  was  one  warm,  wide  sea  of 
glory,  and  the  fields  and  woods  had  on  their 
brightest  vernal  blooms.  The  May-flowers  starred 
all  the  meadows,  and  May-birds  were  spinning  the 
soft,  bright  air  into  golden  skeins  of  song.  The 
sheep  had  been  washed,  and  run  in  white  fleeces 
around  the  hills,  and  the  cows  were  revehng  up 
to  their  sides  in  the  freshest  tender  feed.  Arthur 
took  all  the  beauty  of  the  season  to  his  heart,  and 
carried  it  with  him  as  he  went  to  invite  the  ladies ; 
he  knew  what  he  had  to  expect  for  Hght  steps  and 
faithful  messages  ;  and  he  fairly  flew  on  his 
errand  as  he  went  from  house  to  house. 

He  was  home  again,  little  wearied  before  the  sun 
crossed  the  noon-mark,  and  when  asked  how  he 
could  go  and  come  so  quickly,  and  seem  so  brisk 
while  leaping  from  the  spring  with  a  pitcher  of 
cold  water  for  dinner ;  he  said  the  birds  sung  so 
sweetly  he  forgot  to  get  tired,  and  floated  all  the 
Avay  on  their  glad  morning  songs. 

A  long  and  lovely  afternoon  was  before  him,  and 
he  had  nothing  to  do  but  look  to  his  squirrel-traps, 
and  see  that  the  crows  did  not  light  on  the  corn ; 
except  it  might  be  to  run  to  the  store  for  a  ball  of 
shoe-thread,  of  which  Mr.  Tyler  spoke  in  the  morn- 


64  T  H  E    S  E  'W  I  X  G    B  E  E  . 

ing,  and  unsaddle  the  horses  and  turn  them  out,  if 
the  ladies  rode  to  the  bee. 

The  bee  was  well  attended,  and  a  good  deal  of 
work  and  more  talking  was  done.  Mrs.  Summer- 
ton  was  there,  neat  and  amiable  as  ever,  in  her 
plain  dress  and  almost  Quaker  cap.  Mrs.  Dr. 
Wax  wood  was  there  in  a  fresh  set  of  spit-curls, 
and  a  gaily-rigged  attire.  The  Widow  Chubb  was 
there,  fussj  as  ever  in  blazing  ribbons  and  flaunt- 
ing silks.  Mrs.  Golden  was  there,  in  ruflSed  gown 
and  snowy  chemizette.  Deacon  Maxy's  wife, 
Squire  Melvin's  wife,  Mr.  Trexlar's  wife,  and 
others ;  and  Mrs.  Bronk  brought  Betsey,  and  Mrs. 
Golden,  Ophelia,  and  Mrs.  Sumner  came  with 
Martha  and  George. 

The  ladies  had  an  excellent  visit,  and  the  child- 
ren a  time  they  long  remembered.  Ophelia,  Jane, 
and  Betsey,  sat  in  the  circle  and  sewed,  and  Martha 
Sumner's  needle  was  seen  to  twinkle  there  ;  while 
Jane  bound  shoes,  Betsey  hemmed  two  handker- 
chiefs ;  and  sewed  first  on  a  checkered-linen  dress, 
and  then  on  pantaloons ;  and  Oj^helia  worked  the 
whole  time  on  checkered  bed-curtains  which  Mrs. 
Tyler  wove  ;  though  she  made  lagging  headway, 
and  seamed,  hemmed,  and  whipped,  but  poorly ;  and 
her  ears  were  opened  so  wide  to  all  conversation, 
and  her  prying  eyes  were  so  often  on  a  gaze,  she 
pricked  her  fingers,  and  took  many  stitches  that 
had  to  be  taken  out  when  she  went  away. 


THE     SEWING    BEE.  65 

However,  Ophelia  could  hardly  help  listening ; 
she  was  of  an  interesting  age,  and  beside,  the  con- 
versation would  have  absorbed  or  confused  the 
attention  of  older  minds.  Mrs.  Summerton  said, 
"  the  Indians  had  come  before  their  time  this  year, 
and  one  of  the  squaws  had  a  little  boy  pappoose, 
and  she  declared  that,  she  never  saw  a  prettier 
creature  in  all  her  born  days."  Mrs.  Dr.  Wax- 
wood  replied,  that  "she  made  the  Doctor  drive  her 
down  to  see  it,  and  she  wanted  to  eat  it  up,  it  was 
such  a  cunning  little  witch  of  a  beauty. — There  it 
lay  laughing  in  its  little  bark  swing" — "  And  when 
its  black  eyes  are  tired  gazing  around,  a  robin  red- 
breast lights  on  the  wigwam  and  sings  it  into 
a  snoring  sleep ;"  interrupted  Mrs.  Summerton. 
"  The  Doctor  likes  Indians,"  replied  Mrs.  Wax- 
wood,  "but  he  hates  niggers  so  bad  he  had  as  lief 
dissect    one   as   cut   up   a   hog  ;    and   when   the 

nigger" "  How  you  talk  !"   interrupted  Mrs. 

Summerton.  "  True  enough,  negroes  are  not  as 
pleasant  company  for  me  as  white  people ;  but 
after  all  the  praise  the  Indians  get,  I  think  the 
negroes  are  naturally  a  nobler  race  of  people  than 
Indians.  They  are  easier  educated,  warmer-heart- 
ed, and  serve  their  women  better." 

"  You  may  live  with  the  niggers  if  you  want  to," 
replied  Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood,  "but  /don't  want 
any  darkies  around  me.  I'd  rather  have  a  hundred 
Indians  than  one  nigger.     But  as  I  was  saying, 


Qij  THESEWINGBEE. 

when  the  nigger  was  going  to  be  hung  in  Hamp- 
den, the  Doctor  bought  his  body  of  him  for  a 
gallon  of  whisky,  and  tlie  nigger  drinked  the 
whisky,  and  danced  and  sung,  and  cursed  and 
swore  till  the  rope  wrung  his  neck,  and  then  the 
Doctor  cut  off  his  flesh,  and  the  Doctor  sold  his 
'natomy  for  fifty  dollars." 

"Awful! — what  a  hatred!"  groaned  the  good 
Mrs,  Maxy  to  Mrs.  Sumner :  "  and  what  a  bar- 
gain !"  Mrs.  Sumner,  with  a  look  of  indignation, 
replied.  Mrs.  Widow  Chubb  had  so  many  fiery 
ribbons  blazing  from  her  fussy  head,  and  she  was 
so  florid  and  airy,  Mrs.  Bronk  rallied  her  on  setting 
her  cap  for  uncle  Zeddy  Wayland  ;  the  girlish 
widow  smiled  and  said,  "  she'd  like  to  have  a  good 
haul  of  the  old  man's  money ;  but  she  wouldn't 
take  care  of  Pitt  Popinjay  for  Uncle  Zeddy  Way- 
land  and  a  barrel  of  silver  dollars  to  boot." 

INIrs.  Maxy  said,  "  Pitt  had  become  a  very  ugly 
boy  since  he  went  there."  Mrs.  Sumner  "  had 
heard  he  already  felt  above  his  poor  mother,  and 
abused  her."  Mrs.  Tyler  wanted  to  say  how 
much  she  felt  for  good  Mrs.  Popinjay,  but  meeting 
a  significant  glance  of  Mrs.  Golden's  eyes,  and  a 
hint  from  her  imperious  nose,  she  desisted;  while 
Mrs.  Maxy  said  about  the  same  thing  for  her. 
Mrs.  Melvin  was  afraid  William  would  be  spoiled, 
learning  to  despise  a  trade,  and  expecting  so  much 
money.     Mrs.  Sumner  and  Mrs.  Bronk  agreed  with 


THE    SEWING     BEE.  67 

her  there,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Maxy  and  Mrs.  Sum- 
merton;  while  Mrs.  Tyler  said,  "  he  ought  to  love 
work,  and  be  honest  and  know  how  to  value  money, 
even  if  he  was  rich."  "  I  don't  know  about  that," 
replied  ^Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood,  looking  to  Mrs.  Golden ; 
and  that  lady  cried,  "  /  think  it  will  be  just  the 
making  of  William  Pitt.  He  will  be  a  great  man, 
you  see  if  he  aint.  I  don't  believe  in  putting  our 
children  to  hard  work  if  they  can  hve  respectable 
without." 

"It  is  best  for  girls  and  boys  to  know  how  to 
work  at  a  trade  or  something  else,"  replied  Mrs. 
Sumner.  "  If  I  was  rich  as  Astor,  my  children, 
for  their  own  good,  should  honor  labor,  and  know 
how  to  work."  "  You  and  I  differ,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Golden.  "  I'm  sure  Wellington  and  Bolivar  shall 
be  merchants,  or  have  professions,  and  my  Ophelia 
shan't  work  till  she  looks  like  an  old  plough- 
woman."  "Nor  Andalusia,  neither,"  added  Mrs. 
Dr.  Wax  wood.  "  If  you  want  your  daughters  to 
marry  well,  marry  into  high  families,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Golden,  "favor  them,  learn  them  to  keep 
white  hands,  and  carry  high  heads  :" — while  Betsey 
Bronk  and  Jane  Tyler  scowled,  and  Ophelia  lifted 
her  nose,  flashed  her  fine  eyes,  and  tossed  her  head 
with  an  air  of  inexpressible  self-giatulation. 

"  What  a  noble-looking  man  Arthur  is  going  to 
make,"  said  Mrs.  Melvin  ;  "  and,  good  as  he  looks," 
added  Mrs.  Tyler ; — "  and  smart  as  a  steel-trap," 


68  THE     SEWING    BEE. 

added  Mrs.  Bronk.  "  If  Uncle  Zeddy  had  Arthur 
Sumner  instid  of  Pitty  Popinjay,  he'd  have  a  bird 
worth  keepin'  in  a  gold  cage."  "  That  indeed  he 
icould:''  added  Mrs.  Tyler.  "A  bird,  too,  that 
wouldn't  pull  his  corn,"  added  Mrs.  Sumner; — 
"  nor  peck  his  mother's  eyes  out,"  added  Mrs. 
Trexlar. 

"/think  Oddy  '11  be  handsomer  than  William 
Pitt,"  said  Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood.  "But  I  should 
never  want  Lusia  to  have  him.  Who  knows  what 
he  sprung  from  ?  He's  white  enough  ;  his  lips  are 
thin,  his  nose  is  good-looking ;  but  his  hair  curls 
and  the  Doctor  says  he  may  have  nigger  in  him, 
and  it  may  come  out  in  wooly  hair  in  the  third 
generation,  and  the  Doctor  does  hate  niggers  so  bad 
you  know  !" 

"  He  looks  a  sight  better  than  I  ever  thought  he 
would,"  said  Mrs.  Golden  ;  "  and  if  he  was  rich,  it 
wouldn't  matter  so  much  ;  but  nigger  or  Indian, 
do  you  think  he  has  as  much  spirit  as  William 
Pitt  ?  and  could  he  appear  as  well  in  society  ? 
My  children  like  Wilham  the  best,  he  is  so  high- 
spirited  ;  and  mark  my  words,  he  will  make  a  gen- 
tleman in  society ;  and  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
society.  Arthur  will  make  a  good  hired  man,  or 
an  ingenious  mechanic,  and  they  are  all  useful." 

"  But  you  let  Arthur  and  Pitt  exchange  places 
once,"  whispered  Mrs.  Sumner,  while  Mrs.  Tyler 
was  out,   looking  to  her  tea,  "  and  then  see  who 


THE    SEWING    BEE.  69 

would  be  most  of  a  gentleman."  "Tlien  Arthur 
would  thrive  like  a  pig  in  a  pen,"  cried  Mrs.  Bronk  ; 
"and  Pitt  would  be  like  our  poor  pinter  breed, 
rootin'  in  the  road."  "  And  Pittij  would  need  our 
intij,''  added  Mrs.  Summerton ;— "  But  Arthur  is 
such  a  bashful  fellow,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Golden  ;— 
"  He's  all  the  better  for  that,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Sumner ; — "  He  can  never  appear  well  in  society,  I 
was  going  to  say,"  added  Mrs.  Golden ;—"  But 
who  wants  to  see  a  boy  so  bold  he'll  jump  up  into 
your  lap,  and  lick  your  face,  like  a  brazen  puppy 
dog,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Bronk.  "Pitt  reminds  me 
more  of  a  puppy-dog  than  a  popinjay,"  added  Mrs. 
Trexlar. — "  But  here  you  have  been  talking  of  the 
boys  as  if  they  were  men,  and  ready  to  be  married," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Melvin  ;  and  a  new  theme  was 
discussed  till  tea  was  ready. 

Arthur  Sumner  was  fortunate  enough  not  to  hear 
a  word  said  about  him  in  the  circle,  and  he  quite 
forgot  all  trouble  that  afternoon.  It  was  a  long, 
long  time  till  night,  and  yet  he  relished  every 
jocund  moment  better  even  than  custard  or  cake. 
He  and  George  Sumner  were  called  "  great  neat- 
ups,"  they  loved  each  other  so  fondly,  and  while 
they  were  glad  Jason  had  gone  to  blow  soap-bub- 
bles, and  catch  young  swallows  with  his  cousin 
Welling-ton,  they  would  not  allow  Sydney  out  of 
their  sight,  and  only  wished  Yolney  Summerton 
and  Barney  Bronk  might  be  with  them. 


70  THE    SEWING    BEE. 

Martha  did  not  sew  a  great  while  before  she  laid 
down  her  needle,  and  went  out  where  Arthur, 
George,  and  Sydney  were  watching  crows,  and  sat 
down  and  enjoyed  their  pastimes.  They  braided 
grass,  curled  dandelions,  and  ate  little  mallows 
buds,  calling  them  cheeses.  Had  Yolney  and 
Barney  been  there  they  would  have  had  a  ramble 
after  May-flowers  in  the  woods,  and  played  hide- 
and-seek  in  the  barn.  Martha  caught  little  Sydney 
and  kissed  his  cheeks,  and  eyes,  and  chin,  and 
mouth,  and  said  he  was  sweeter  than  clover ;  and 
Sydney  dimpled  like  a  cherub,  and  his  fair  eyes 
flashed  with  a  lustre  of  unwonted  joy.  Martha 
said  Arthur  was  her  brother,  and  kissed  him,  hung 
dandelions  in  his  crinkling  hair,  held  a  butter- 
cup under  his  chin,  and  said  he  loved  butter. 
Arthur  did  not  blush  so  bashfully  when  Martha 
kissed  and  amused  him,  as  he  would  if  Ophelia  or 
any  other  girl  had  done  it.  Martha  was  such  an 
innocent  creature,  and  so  child-like  in  all  her  ways, 
he  %vas  bolder  and  better  when  he  had  spent  a  day 
with  her. 

Martha  went  to  a  bird's  nest  to  feed  the  young 
birds,  and  Arthur  and  the  other  boys  swapped 
knives  and  made  chestnut  whistles.  George  gave 
Arthur  the  ballads  of.  Babes  in  the  Wood,  and  Silk 
Merchant's  Daughter.  When  Martha  joined  them 
again,  she  and  George  sung  the  Babes  in  the  Wood, 
as  they  had  heard  their  mother  sing ;  and  Martha 


THE    SEWING    BEE.  71 

turned  her  face  and  wept,  and  Arthur's  blue  eyes 
swam  in  tears ;  for  it  made  him  think  of  what  he 
had  suffered.     They  played 

"  Lady-queen  Annie  she  sits  in  the  sun, 
As  fair  as  a  lily,  as  brown  as  a  bun  ; 
She  sends  you  three  letters,  and  prays  you'll  read  one. 
I  cannot  read  one,  unless  I  read  all  ; 
Then  pray.  Master  Sydney,  deliver  the  ball." 

And  were  all  thrilled  with  joy  by  Sydney's  merry 
laugh  as  Martha  called  him,  and  he  "  delivered  the 
ball." 

Then  they  took  up  another  play  and  tasted  new 
delight.  Little  Sydney  entered  the  ring,  and  his 
cheeks  glowed,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  and  flam- 
ed with  glee.  He  laughed,  and  sung,  and  recited 
rhymes  from  Mother  Goose.  He  blew  out  his 
cheeks  like  a  bubble,  and  shouted  when  Martha 
struck  them  down.  Then  he  would  stand  silent  for 
minutes,  gazing  on  her  face,  and  watching  her  way 
as  if  in  fascination.  Then  he  would  beg  her  to 
stay  there  and  be  his  sister  for  ever  and  ever. 
Then  he  would  kiss  the  flowers  and  look  at  the 
woods  and  skies,  as  if  he  w^ould  devour  their 
beauty.  Then  he  resumed  his  merry  play.  At 
last  they  were  called  in  to  supper,  and  enjoyed  it 
with  keen  appetites,  kindly  words,  and  happy 
smiles.  The  circle  broke  up,  the  women  and  child- 
ren went  home,  and  Arthur  passed  the  night  in 
very  pleasant  dreams. 


VI. 

THE    GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS. 

The  four  years  ttat  succeeded  were  more  tran- 
sient than  they  seemed  to  the  young  who  counted 
their  months  impatiently,  and  yet  one  who  had 
been  absent  from  home  that  while,  would  Lave 
found  on  his  return  that  many  changes  had  i-isen 
to  surprise  him,  and  make  it  seem  like  home  no 
more.  Changes  were  seen  in  Sydney,  and  yet  with 
one  exception,  they  were  not  so  many,  nor  so  gi'cat, 
as  occur  in  more  populous  towns. 

The  bo3''s  we  last  saw  at  school  or  i)lay,  still  play 
occasionally,  and  attend  school  through  the  winter 
months,  but  they  have  thought  of  becoming  men, 
and  most  of  them  have  chosen  their  avocations. 

Jason  Tyler  has  too  little  fixedness  of  purpose 
and  talent,  but  he  has  gone  to  an  honorable  trade, 
which  requires  patience,  integrity,  an  artist's  eye, 
and  a  gentleman's  manners.  He  is  learning  to  be 
a  tailor.  Barne;f  Bronk  trains  his  stout  and  honest 
arms  to  the  swing  of  the  sledge,  and  the  stroke 


THEGRIEF     OF     GRIEFS.  73 

of  the  hammer ;  and  he  can  forge  a  handsome 
horse-nail  already  ;  he  can  plate  and  temper  a  hoe, 
set  a  sleigh-shoe,  and  jump  an  axe  ;  his  shoulder 
shoves  the  butteris  with  the  skill  of  a  master  hand, 
while  he  pares  a  horse's  hoof  as  smooth  and  true  as 
a  saucer  ;  and  his  mother  and  friends  have  button- 
chisels,  tweezers,  and  twisted  hooks  of  Barney's 
own  ingenious  make. 

Volney  Summerton  is  learning  to  make  boots 
and  shoes.  Yolney  is  a  fine  fellow,  intelligent, 
tasty,  loving  to  work  in  one  place,  and  to  sit  down 
with  rolled  sleeves  and  busy  hands  to  what  he  does, 
and  that  is  the  honorable  trade  for  him.  George 
Sumner  cannot  be  tempted  from  the  fields,  and  he 
stays  with  his  father  on  his  pleasant  farm.  Bolivar 
and  Wellington  Golden  have  done  very  little  to 
lighten  their  jDOor  old  father's  load.  You  would 
say  his  apprentice,  Barney  Bronk  is  the  natural 
son,  he  takes  such  a  pleasure  in  doing  the  old  man's 
will  about  the  shop  and  house,  and  on  his  little 
iarm.  You  may  sometimes  see  them  employed  on 
the  farm,  but  never  in  the  vulgar  shop,  nor  in 
weeding  onions,  or  milking  cows.  They  will  do  a 
little  in  the  cornfield,  and  are  better  than  no  help 
when  hay  and  harvest  are  wasting,  and  there  are 
no  others  to  cut  and  secure  them.  But  their  hat 
brims  must  be  wide  as  parasols,  and  lined,  and  they 
must  wear  gloves  or  mittens  thai  their  faces  and 
hands  may  keep  white  and  delicate ;  while  the  old 
4 


74  THE      GRIEF     OF    GRIEFS. 

man  is  as  brown  as  a  beaver,  working  with  bis 
grey  head  bare,  and  his  shoulders  stoop  more  and 
more  with  the  wear  and  tear  of  his  tough  life,  and 
his  fingers,  hard  and  crooked  as  chain-hooks,  are 
grappled  to  extra  toils. 

However,  Mr.  Golden  does  not  complain;  Mrs. 
Golden  is  so  satisfied  with  all  that  her  sons  do ; 
and  he  is  willing  that  Bolivar  shall  next  Aveek  be- 
gin the  study  of  medicine  with  Dr.  Waxwood ; 
while  Wellington  is  promised  that,  in  a  few  weeks 
after,  he  may  go  and  tend  bar  at  a  tavern  in  Hamp- 
den, and  remain  there  until  he  can  get  a  situation 
in  an  office  or  a  store.  William  Popinjay  knows 
he  can  be  a  lawyer,  without  going  all  the  long  way 
through  College,  and  he  quits  the  halls  of  learn- 
ing while  a  sophomore,  and  enters  a  law  office  in 
Hampden.  Jane  Tyler  is  married  to  Giles  Maxy, 
and  makes  him  an  excellent  wife.  Celestia  Sum- 
merton  is  well  married.  Betsey  Bronk  is  the  same 
unpolished,  good-hearted  girl,  and  if  you  listen, 
you  may  hear  her  loud  song  above  the  clack  of 
the  loom  in  Mrs.  Sumner's  chamber.  Diaduma 
Truck,  the  broad-waisted  and  big-footed  girl,  who 
called  Arthur  Sumner  a  '  paddy  drummer,'  works 
for  Mrs.  Golden,  while  Ophelia  is  away  completing 
her  education.  Andalusia  Waxwood  has  returned 
from  boarding-school,  with  her  last  accomplish- 
ments, and  she  has  the  only  piano  in  the  neighbor- 
hood.    She   has  been  very  patient  in  her  music 


THE     GRIEF     OF     GRIEFS.  75 

lessons,  and  though  she  has  not  a  note  of  music  in 
her  soul,  still,  as  music  is  getting  fashionable  in 
Sydney,  she  must  manage  at  least  one  tune  on  the 
instrument,  learn  to  touch  its  keys  with  lady  fin- 
gers, talk  the  terms,  and  have  the  latest  issues  of 
music  on  hand,  or  she  may  be  counted  low  and 
vulgar. 

And  that  piano  awakens,  with  its  first  charming 
sounds,  a  great  excitement  in  Sydney.  The  old 
folks  call  in  to  see  Lusia's  fingers  fly  over  its  trill- 
ing keys.  The  young  gather  there,  and  many  of 
them  listen  till  they  envy  the  fortunate  girl. 
Children  are  admitted  to  the  parlor,  and  they  put 
their  hands  on  the  polished  rosewood,  asking  if  it 
is  not  colored  glass,  and  laugh  and  shout  as  she 
thrums  it.  Billy  Bronk  makes  a  call  on  Lusia,  sits 
down  in  the  parlor,  with  his  clouted  shoes  on  the 
rail  of  a  Windsor  chair,  asks  for  Bruce's  Address, 
and  comes  away  declaring  it  is  a  slick  piece  of 
work,  and  gives  out  a  curious  kind  of  pretty  yarns 
in  music ;  but,  after  all,  he'd  as  lief  hear  Betsey 
sing  '  The  frog  he  did  a  courtin'  ride,'  and  buzz  the 
bass  on  her  wool-Avheel.  Ophelia  Golden  comes 
home  at  vacation,  a  very  handsome  girl,  and  returns 
to  stay  her  last  quarter,  cheered  by  the  promise 
that  she  shall  have  a  piano,  if  the  missionary  money 
helps  to  buy  it  for  her. 

And  what  of  Sydney  Tyler?  My  heart  swells 
with  grief,  as  I  recal  his  dear  image  to  my  mind. 


76  THE    GRIEF   OF    GRIEFS. 

Sydney  grew  a  rare  and  gracious  boy ;  and  he 
nestled  in  nature,  and  never  drank  his  fill  of  the 
flowing  beauties  of  this  bright  world.  Seeming  to 
take  some  strange  presentiment  of  their  fate,  his 
eyes  ranged  the  universe,  and  drank  at  every 
fountain  of  light,  and  river  of  beauty,  as  if  each 
draught  were  to  be  the  last.  The  images  of  skies 
and  landscapes  were  hoarded  in  his  mind  with  a 
more  miserly  passion  than  if  they  had  been  gold ; 
the  faces  of  dear  friends,  and  the  forms  of  familiar 
things,  were  hung  as  halo-circled  pictures  in  his 
soul,  and  then  those  luminous  orbs  were  veiled  for- 
ever. 

The  story  of  his  misfortune  is  brief  There  came 
a  morning  when  Spring  and  Summer  met  and  em- 
braced, and  all  things  in  earth  and  heaven  were 
jubilant  with  light  and  gladness,  and  Arthur  and 
Sydney  went  into  the  meadow  to  enjoy  the  scene, 
and  cut  willows,  which  they  were  going  to  weave 
into  baskets.  They  spent  an  hour  in  joyous 
pastime  with  the  bees  and  birds.  They  gathered 
their  willows  in  a  bundle,  and  as  Sydney  stepped 
to  take  the  knives  from  Arthur,  that  the  latter 
might  carry  the  bundle,  he  tripped  on  a  stone,  and 
fell  Avith  his  right  eye  on  the  sharp  stub  of  a  wil- 
low they  had  just  cut;  and,  as  Arthur  raised  him 
from  the  ground,  the  humor  of  the  eye  run  out. 
The  poor  boy  was  instantly  thrilled  with  pangs  of 
terrible  anguish,  and  Arthur  was  thrilled  with  pangs 


THE    GRIEF    OF     GRIEFS.  77 

of  pity  and  grief.  Arthur  led  him  slowly  to  the 
house,  and  Sydney  fell  shrieking  and  fainting  in 
his  mother's  arms.  I  need  not  describe  the  scene 
that  followed.  I  need  not  attempt  to  tell  the  sor- 
row of  the  famUy,  nor  the  grief  of  a  hundred 
friends  who  loved  Sydney,  who  prided  in  his  manly 
promise,  and  took  his  affliction  as  keenly  as  if  it 
had  been  their  own.  Misfortune  succeeded  misfor- 
tune. The  nerve  of  the  eye  was  shattered  by  the 
wound,  and  a  violent  inflammation  ensued,  which 
they  feared  from  the  first,  would  attack  the  other 
eye.  A  skilful  physician  was  called  from  Hamp- 
den, and,  while  he  expressed  little  hope,  he  ordered 
Sydney  to  be  placed  in  a  dark  room  and  on  sim- 
ple diet,  and  made  a  resolute  effort  to  save  the 
other  eye.  After  two  or  three  weeks,  the  inflam- 
mation subsided,  and  hope  revived  for  a  time,  and 
Sydney  regained  all  his  cheerfulness,  saying  he 
would  be  thankful  and  happy  to  return  to  the 
lovely  world,  if  only  one  eye  were  spared  him  to 
enjoy  its  light.  The  curtains  of  the  windows  were 
gradually  raised,  the  time  was  set  for  him  to  quit 
his  prison,  and  George  and  Martha  Sumner  were 
coming  to  rejoice  with  him  as  soon  as  he  was  free. 
But  before  that  day  arrived,  the  inflammation  re- 
turned and  attacked  the  other  eye,  and  quenched 
his  only  sight.  Then  for  a  time  it  seemed  that  his 
heart  would  bleed  itself  away.  Then  every  one 
was  melted  to  tears  and  pierced  with  anguish,  to 


78  THE     GRIEF    OF     GRIEFS. 

hear  his  sobs  and  moans.  "Mother,  O  mother,"  he 
cried,  "  will  I  never  see  your  face  again  ?  Nor 
Arthur's,  nor  Jane's,  nor  father's,  nor  Martha  Sum- 
ner's ?  Will  I  never  see  another  spring  morning  ? 
nor  the  summer  fields,  nor  the  woods,  nor  the  lake, 
or  sky  ?  0  tell  me,  mother,  must  I  always  be 
blind?" 

"  Not  always,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Tyler,  "you 
will  have  bright  eyes  in  heaven  !" 

"  0,  heaven  is  so  high  up,  and  so  far  away,  I 
cannot,  cannot  wait !  Will  I  never  see  you  again 
in  this  world,  I  mean  ?" 

"I  fear  not,  Sydney.  But  we  do  not  know. 
God  is  good,  and  he  may  sometime  restore  the 
sight  of  one  of  your  eyes.  Love  him,  Sydney,  and 
trust  him,  and  he  will  help  you  bear  3^our  grief." 

"  I  will,  mother :  but  why  did  he  let  the  last  eye 
turn  blind,  when  I  loved  to  look  on  his  world  so 
well  ?  I  will  trust  him,  mother,  but  I  feel  so  bad 
when  I  think  he  let  me  get  blind." 

"  You  must  not  fault  him,  Sydney,  if  you  wish 
to  see  in  heaven," 

"  I  do  not  fault  him.  But  it  is  so  hard  to  be 
blind,  and  heaven  is  so  far  away!  But  tell  me, 
mother,  will  heaven  be  bright  as  this  world,  and 
beautiful  when  we  get  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  son,  ten  thousand  times  more  beauti- 
ful." 

"  Have  they  chestnut  woods  in  heaven,  mother  ?" 


THE     GEIEF     OF    GRIEFS.  79 

"  I  do  not  know  about  tliat,  Sydney,  but  the  tree 
of  life  is  there." 

"  Will  it  blossom  as  the  chestnut  trees  do  here  in 
July?" 

"  It  bears  leaves,  my  son,  that  will  heal  your 
eyes." 

"  0  that  will  be  good,  but  I  wish  they  had  big 
chestnut  woods  there.  But  they  cannot  have  skies, 
can  they,  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  must  have  skies,  for  the  Bible  says, 
there  are  stars  and  a  rainbow  there." 

"  How  can  that  be,  when  Mr.  Dil  worth  says,  so 
often,  that  heaven  is  beyond  the  skies  ?" 

"  These  things  are  too  hard  for  a  little  boy  to 
know." 

"But  you  can  tell  me  this,  mother,  shall  I  see 
and  know  you  all  in  heaven  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  Bible  says,  '  then  shall  I  see  as  I  am 
seen,  and  know  as  I  am  known,'  and  you  will  see 
all  dear  faces,  and  a  more  beautiful  world  than 
this." 

"  This  world  was  beautiful  enough, — but  heaven 
is  so  far  away  !" 

"  Believe  what  God  says  in  the  Bible,  my  son, 
and  heaven  may  begin  here,  and  open  bright  eyes 
in  your  soul." 

"  0,  but  if  it  would  open  on  me  now,  I  would 
love  him  with  all  my  heart." 

It  was  a  loner  -while  before  he  became  recon- 


80  THE     GRIEF     OF     GRIEFS. 

ciled  to  liis  affliction,  and  began  to  see  clearly  witli 
the  eyes  of  his  soul. 

Sydney  had  many  kind  comforters,  who  would 
willingly  have  taken  his  grief  and  borne  it  for  him, 
for  months  at  a  time,  to  see  his  mournful  face  illu- 
minated with  one  more  smile.  Even  his  father, 
who  had  not  evinced  the  fondness  for  him  that  he 
had  for  Jason,  was  touched  with  his  misfortune, 
and  attended  him  with  a  melted  heart  and  soothing- 
words.  Mrs.  Tyler  was  his  angel,  washing  his 
cheeks  with  her  tears,  holding  his  poor  head  on  her 
heart ;  assuring  him  what  should  be  done  to  miti- 
gate his  grief,  and  telling  him  of  the  sights  of  beauty 
and  glory  he  would  see  in  heaven.  Jason  was 
kinder  to  him  now  than  ever  he  had  been  before, 
and  Jane  showed  a  sister's  love. 

There  was  another  inmate  of  that  home  whose 
name  shall  be  recorded  here.  It  was  Eanger,  a  dog, 
now  six  months  old,  which  Sydney  had  owned  from 
a  little  pup,  .and  to  which  he  was  fondly  attached. 
Ranger  was  a  spaniel  of  a  handsome  size,  a  glossy 
coat,  as  rich  as  a  chestnut  in  its  hue,  and  spotted  with 
little  snow-balls  all  over  his  back  and  sides.  His  ears 
were  long,  and  silky  as  velvet,  his  face  was  finely 
shaped ;  his  eyes  were  clear,  mild,  and  bright,  and 
he  seemed  to  know  and  feel,  as  much  as  any  man. 
He  took  a  sense  of  Sydney's  misfortune,  and  moan- 
ed for  him,  and  kept  constantly  in  his  room.  He 
brightened  and  bounded  with  joy  when  Sydney 


THE     GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS,  81 

again  stepped  abroad,  and  he  soon  had  on  a  collar 
and  a  cord,  leading  his  blind  master  wherever  he 
wished  to  go. 

The  dearest  children  of  the  neighborhood  came 
more  frequently  to  amuse  him,  and  recall  to  his 
mind  their  times  of  childish  joy.  But  of  all  his 
friends,  none  remained  dearer  to  his  loving  heart 
than  Arthur  Sumner,  who  felt  his  affliction  almost 
as  if  it  were  his  own,  and  gained  time  of  his  tasks 
and  engagements  to  run  home  to  Sydney  and  be- 
guile the  tedious  hours.  He  led  him  often  where 
he  could  scent  the  flowers,  and  hear  the  birds  and 
waterfalls,  and  taste  the  nectar  of  the  clover  blooms. 
He  performed  extra  tasks  and  earned  pennies,  and 
then  bought  primers  and  story-books  to  read  to 
Sydney,  whenever  he  had  time.  He  taught  him  to 
tell  the  stories  he  had  heard,  and  repeat  ballads 
and  verses,  and  there  were  many  times  now  when 
Sydney  forgot  his  blindness  for  an  hour,  and  seem- 
ed to  enjoy  the  lovely  wonders  of  the  world. 

Arthur  had  grown  to  a  noble  youth,  and  had 
heard  nothing  yet  of  his  home.  The  grief  of  his 
misfortune  returned  at  times,  and  wrung  his  heart, 
but  Sydney  had  been  so  much  more  keenly  afflict- 
ed, and  he  devoted  so  much  of  his  extra  time 
to  the  poor  boy  in  winning  his  heart  from  its 
gloom,  he  had  not  brooded  over  his  own  troubles 
of  late  as  he  used  to  do. 

There  began  to  be  a  change  in  his  looks ;  and 
4* 


82  THE    GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS. 

liis  voice  had  those  unmanageable  sharps  and  flats 
which  all  boys  have  to  endure,  and  which  manhood 
tunes  to  melody.  He  had  rough  hands  now,  and 
russet  cheeks,  and  was  awkward  in  his  manners. 
Still,  Martha  Sumner  was  not  ashamed  to  call  him 
brother,  and  every  sensible  person  declared  she  was 
a  noble,  and  a  precious  girl. 

Mr.  Tyler  was  still  very  hard  upon  Arthur.  A 
laudable  desire  to  accumulate  something  extra  for 
Sydney,  run  to  extremes,  demanded  undue  tasks 
and  exertions  of  Arthur,  and  retrenched  the  num- 
ber of  his  few  small  favors.  He  permitted  Arthiir 
to  attend  school  three  months  in  a  year,  but  that, 
however  precious,  seemed  for  the  time  only  an 
aggravation,  which  was  increased  by  his  being  lim- 
ited in  his  reading  at  home.  Arthur  still  attended 
church,  and  took  great  comfort  there,  while  the 
good  minister  instructed  and  enlightened  him.  He 
was  chaig'ed  to  remember  the  text,  he  always  tried 
for  his  own  good  to  obey  the  charge,  and  Mrs. 
Tj'ler,  with  a  poor  memory,  attempted  in  vain  to 
help  him,  but  it  seemed  cruel,  and  he  could  not  re- 
strain the  tears,  on  going  home  hungTy  from  church, 
and  doing  all  his  chores,  to  be  told  by  his  master, 
when  he  could  not  remember  the  sacred  words,  nor 
where  to  find  them,  that  he  was  a  heedless  boy, 
and  must  go  to  bed  without  his  supper. 

And  more  cruel  still  did  it  seem,  to  be  forced 
to   his   master's   trade,   when   his   heart    was   not 


THE     GKIEF     OF     GEIEFS.  83 

there,  although  he  could  learn  it  easily ;  and  he 
sighed  and  longed,  like  other  boys,  to  select  the 
trade  of  his  own  choice,  Billy  Bronk  advised  him 
to  run  away  and  shirk  for  himself.  That  he 
could  not  think  of  doing.  He  could  not  take  his 
heart  away  from  Sydney  and  Mrs.  Tyler.  And 
the  perilous  step  might  unsettle  his  habits  and 
fixed  ways  of  life.  He  knew  his  weak  sides,  and 
the  dangers  of  such  adventures,  and  remained  with 
his  old  master. 

That  first  year  at  the  trade  was  gloomed  with 
many  griefs,  and  yet  Arthur  had  many  hours  of 
pleasant  joy.  A  nature  so  sensitive  to  all  that 
takes  its  attention,  will  have  joys  as  well  as  griefe. 
He  had  a  few  fine  pastimes  beside  those  taken  in 
arithmetic,  and  in  reading  to  Sydney,  and  leading 
him  to  the  woods.  The  love  of  his  young  friends 
was  as  sweet  as  the  light  of  morning  to  his  soul. 
He  loved  to  look  on  beauty,  whether  it  bloomed  in 
a  landscape,  waved  in  a  tree,  soared  with  a  bird, 
swept  in  a  circle,  appeared  in  a  house,  or  moved 
and  smiled  in  a  human  form.  He  was  never  tired 
of  rearing  castles  and  running  traceries,  arches,  and 
spirals,  which  the  types  of  nature  seemed  vaguely 
to  suggest. 

He  was  obliged  to  be  frugal  in  all  he  could  call 
his  own,  for  he  had  few  opportunities  to  earn  or 
obtain,  except  for  others.  His  nature  seemed  to 
lay  little  value  on  money,  and  divide  among  others 


84  THE      GRIEF     OF    GRIEFS. 

witli  a  free  heart ;  but  necessity  forced  liini  some- 
times from  the  bent  of  his  nature ;  and  perhaps  it 
was  well  it  did.  Mr.  Tyler  came  around  once  in  a 
while  to  a  turn  of  good  feeling,  and  indulged  him 
moderately,  and  for  every  indulgence  he  received 
double  pay, 

Arthur  reckoned  greatly  on  holidays,  when  one 
or  two  in  a  year  were  promised  him,  and  more  than 
made  up  for  lost  time  by  doing  over-work.  The 
month  of  August  came,  and  he  was  promised,  if  he 
would  spring  to  his  tasks  cheerfully,  and  could  in 
any  way  contrive  to  get  his  own  spending  money, 
he  might  go  to  general  training  pn  the  first  week  in 
September.  He  never  had  been  to  general  train- 
ing. His  friends  had  told  him  what  they  saAv  and 
enjoyed  there,  and  he  forgot  all  trouble  for  a  fort- 
night, thinking  what  his  eyes  and  ears  would 
enjoy.  The  heaviest  work  now  was  lighter,  the 
hours  rolled  rapidly  away,  and  yet  they  seemed  a 
long,  long  train  before  September. 

"  May  Sydney  go  with  me  too,  if  I  will  lead  him, 
and  give  him  half  I  buy?"  asked  Arthur  of  Mr. 
Tyler. 

"  Yes,  he  may  go  too,  if  you  and  Jason  will  take 
care  of  him,"  said  Mr.  Tyler. 

"He  had  better  go  with  Arthur;  I  shall  be  off 
too  early  for  them,  and  shall  want  to  run  around  a 
little  in  Hampden,"  interrupted  Jason. 

"  Well,     I'll    take     good     care    of    him,    and 


THEGRIEF     OF     GRIEFS.  85 

Yolney  and  Barney  will  help  me ;"  answered 
Arthur. 

"  But  it  will  not  be  right  for  Arthur  to  pay 
Sydney's  way,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Tyler. 

"  O  yes  I  can,  and  enjoy  what  I  share  with  him 
all  the  better,"  answered  Arthur. 

"  Yes,  let  him  do  it ;  it  will  learn  him  to  be  gen- 
erous," added  Mr.  Tyler. 

"  And  may  we  go  into  the  caravan  too  ?"  in- 
quired Arthur. 

"Yes,  if  you'll  pay  your  way,"  answered  Mr. 
Tyler. 

"  And  see  the  wax  works  ?"  inquired  Arthur. 

"Yes,  if  you'll  pay  your  way,"  answered  Mr. 
Tyler. 

"And  see  the  phantasmagoria?"  inquired  Arthur. 

"Yes,  if  you'll  pay  your  way,"  answered  Mr. 
Tyler. 

"  And  hear  the  negro  singers  and  all  ?"  inquired 
Arthur. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  if  you'll  pay  your  way,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Tyler. 

Then  Arthur  fell  to  contriving,  and  doing  the 
little  jobs  at  odd  times,  which  brought  in  cent  ailer 
cent  of  the  money.  He  knew  that  Jason's  spend- 
ing money  would  be  given  him,  and  more  perhaps 
than  himself  could  raise  in  the  time  he  could  take 
to  earn  it.  He  knew  there  was  not  another  boy  in 
the  neighborhood  whose  money  would  not  be  given 


86  THE     GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS. 

him,  except  Sydney,  and  perhaps,  Bamey  Bronk, 
who  could  earn  his  own  by  doing  odd  jobs  in  the 
shop.  He  was  on  an  equal  footing  Avith  none  of 
them  in  this  respect;  and  yet  he  did  not  let  it 
trouble  him,  but  rejoicing  in  an  unexpected  pro- 
mise to  have  such  a  holiday,  he  over-estimated,  if 
any  thing,  the  means  by  which  the  money  could 
be  raised. 

He  had  invented  a  mould  for  casting  pewter 
pipes,  and  as  several  good  women  contributed  to 
his  stock  by  giving  him  broken  spoons,  eyeless 
buttons,  and  old  porringers,  and  he  had  lead  to 
alloy  it,  he  felt  safe  in  calculating  on  something 
from  the  pipe  trade ;  even  if  he  sold  none  before 
training-da}".  He  finished  ofi"  two  dozen  with  a 
half  stem  of  wood,  and  they  were  bright  and  hand- 
some, and  a  luxury  to  smoke.  Then  he  gained  a 
day  at  a  stint,  and  helped  Mr,  Summerton  in  oat 
harvest,  and  returned  at  night  with  double  wages 
in  silver,  because  he  had  raked  and  bound  among 
Canada  thistles.  Even  that  was  enough,  Mrs. 
Tyler  assured  him,  to  buy  all  he  and  Sydney 
would  need  to  eat  and  drink  at  the  training ;  but 
she  encouraged  him  to  lay  it  up  and  earn  more ; 
and  while  she  would  look  out  for  Sydney,  and 
while  Arthur  should  give  himself  a  generous  day, 
he  must  see  how  much  he  could  save  to  spend  for 
books,  and  lay  away  for  a  time  of  need. 

In  the  corn  and  harvest  fields,  along  the  fences, 


THE     GRIEF    OF    GRIEFS.  87 

there  were  abundant  borders  of  fine  herds-grass, 
ripened  and  fit  for  seed ;  grass-seed  was  then 
worth  two  dollars  a  bushel ;  he  had  liberty  to  gain 
time,  and  cut  and  clean  a  bushel,  if  he  would  give 
Mr.  Tyler  half ;  and  before  September,  he  had  half 
a  bushel  of  clean  seed  put  up  as  his  own. 

And  there  was  still  another  resource  which  he 
found  convenient,  and  necessity  called  it  to  his 
mind.  With  an  artist's  eye  he  had  cut  birds  and 
houses,  out  of  paper,  since  he  was  twelve  years 
old.  He  tried  his  hand,  also,  at  cutting  letters,  and 
was  so  successful,  he  beat  Tom  Morgan,  who  had 
gone  around  the  country  cutting  names  out  of 
pasteboard,  at  three  cents  a  letter.  He  could  cut 
them  cheaper,  for  he  did  not  have  to  mark  them 
out  beforehand,  while  he  left  them  neat  and  true. 
Some  of  the  neighbors  desired  their  names  for 
marking  bags  and  buffaloes,  he  gladly  cut  for  a  cent 
a  letter,  and  soon  earned  a  dollar  in  that  way. 

Then  he  added  to  this  fund  by  doing  errands  for 
neighbors,  and  making  boxes  and.  the  like,  and 
before  training  day,  as  he  sold  his  grass-seed  and 
two  pewter  pipes  for  cash,  he  had  money  enough 
to  buy  him  a  fine  wool  hat,  beside  what  he  wanted 
to  spend,  and  to  bring  home  for  other  needs. 

Mrs.  Tyler  desired  her  husband  to  give  Arthur 
leather  and  thread  and  let  him  gain  time,  and  make 
himself  a  pair  of  handsome  shoes  to  wear,  as  he 
would  feel  mortified  to  go  barefooted  now  he  was 


88  THE     GRIEF    OF    GKIEFS. 

SO  large,  and  his  best  trowsers  were  so  out-grown ; 
when  all  the  other  boys  could  go  better  dressed 
than  he.  But  that  was  asking  too  much  of  Mr. 
Tyler.  He  had  been  liberal  enough,  in  all  con- 
science, this  time,  he  thought.  He  could  not,  and 
would  not  be  so  extravagant.  If  Arthur  would 
buy  the  leather,  and  sit  up  nights,  he  might  make 
them,  otherwise  he  must  go  barefooted.  But  Mrs. 
Tyler  encouraged  him  to  keep  his  money,  and  let 
her  manage  about  the  shoes,  and  Sydney  declared 
he  would  not  stir  a  step  toward  training,  if  Arthur 
offered  again  to  pay  his  expenses  besides  his  own. 


VII. 

GENERAL    TRAINING. 

The  Lours  and  days  rolled  away,  and  tlie  great 
day  at  last,  the  day  of  general  training,  dawned 
upon  the  world.  It  dawned  tardily,  as  the  boys 
all  thought,  and  yet  the  golden  beams  that  melted 
the  bars  and  fishes  from  the  morning  sky  before 
the  sun  wheeled  in  view,  assured  them  the  day 
would  be  fair,  and  it  came  at  last,  blazing  in  the 
orange  of  September.  Arthur's  friends  called  early 
for  him  and  Sydney,  and  found  them  up  and  ready 
to  start  on  foot  for  Hampden.  Not  one  of  them 
had  taken  his  usual  amount  of  breakfast ;  for  how 
could  they  eat  without  an  appetite  ?  And  who 
could  expect  an  appetite  with  such  a  day  at  hand  ? 

Jason  was  to  start  from  his  new  home  with  other 
boys  whom  he  liked  better  than  these,  and  these 
were  glad  enough  to  dispense  with  his  company. 
Barney  and  Yolney  wore  fur  hats ;  but  then  they 
felt  no  larger  for  it ;  while  Arthur's  hat,  if  it  was 
wool,  fairly  glistened'  with  raven  lustre,  it  was  so 


90  GENERAL    TRAINING. 

new,  and  lie  had  bought  it  with  his  own  money, 
and  he  felt  well,  and  looked  well,  as  he  put  it  on 
to  go. 

Then  his  coat  was  whole  and  very  clean,  if  not 
quite  so  new,  and  though  others  had  better,  he  did 
not  greatly  care ;  and  his  trowsers  answered  well 
enough,  though  in  length  he  had  a  little  out-grown 
them.  His  feet  and  ankles  were  washed  very 
clean,  and  he  did  not  care  to  have  stockings ;  but 
he  did  want  shoes  for  that  time  !  He  was  grown  so 
large,  all  the  boys  not  his  friends  would  laugh  to 
see  him  coming  to  general  training  barefooted ;  and 
yet  Mr.  Tyler  had  refused  to  furnish  even  the 
leather,  that  he  might  have  shoes  to  wear  on  that 
occasion.  Jane  had  given  him  her  sympathy,  and 
pleaded  with  her  father  to  furnish  him  leather,  or 
give  him  a  pair  out-and-out.  Sydney  had  pleaded 
for  him,  with  a  tender  tongue  and  beseeching  face, 
and  sometimes  Mr.  Tyler  seemed  on  the  point  of 
yielding  fhe  favor ;  then  again  he  would  settle 
down  on  his  first  resolution.  And  how  did  the 
poor  boy  do  ? 

Mrs.  Tyler  kept  her  kind  promise  and  managed 
for  him.  Mrs.  Tyler  had  to  have  a  new  pair  of 
shoes  for  meeting ;  she  contrived  to  get  them  of  a 
size  that  fitted  Arthur  very  well ;  they  were  made 
of  the  finest  calf-skin,  a  week  before  training  day, 
and  she  tied  them  on  Arthur's  feet,  bidding  him  to 
wear  them,  for  they  became  him  handsomely.     So 


GENERAL    TRAINING.  91 

he  started  with  those  brand-new  shoes,  contrasting 
finely  with  his  clean  ankles,  and  no  one  of  the 
company  had  better  shoes  than  he.  , 

They  started  for  Hampden.  Arthur  and  Yolney 
led  Sydney,  and  Barney  promised  to  take  his  turn 
soon  at  the  blind  boy's  hand.  Sydney  sighed  at 
first,  to  think  he  could  not  enjoy  his  eyes  that 
one  day,  and  see  the  wonderful  sights.  He  rolled 
his  poor  balls  in  vain,  to  catch  a  wandering  ray, 
and  sighed  again,  and  shed  a  secret  tear.  But  his 
ears  now  seemed  to  perform  so  well  the  function 
of  eyes,  and  the  boys  were  so  kind  and  cheerful, 
and  there  were  so  many  enjoyments  before  him, 
he  soon  forgot  his  grief,  and  with  a  smiling  face, 
and  high  and  forward  step,  he  kept  an  even  breast 
as  they  almost  flew  on  their  way. 

The  village  rose  in  sight,  and  what  a  world  of 
people  were  flocking  from  all  ways  to  Hampden  ! 
Arthur  could  not  conceive  where  they  came  from, 
and  the  pillared  buildings  and  steepled  churches 
perlectl}'-  amazed  him.  He  stood  and  gazed  at  the 
buildings,  wishing  he  might  run  such  mouldin2;s, 
and  flute  such  columns,  as  he  saw.  And  so  many 
signs  as  there  were !  He  could  not  attempt  to  read 
or  count  them.  Then  what  a  scene  in  the  streets, 
and  on  the  common,  and  field ! 

It  made  his  heart  dance  with  excitement,  and  he 
quickly  forgot  his  short  trowsers  and  naked  ankles. 
He  held  a  faithful  grasp  of  Sydney's  hand,  and 


92  G  E  X  E  R  A  L    T  R  A  I  N  I  N  G . 

could  not  suppress  a  throb  of  grief,  to  observe  the 
clouds  that  frequently  shaded  the  blind-boy's  smiles 
of  joy,  and  see  how  he  struggled  to  break  away 
from  his  blindness. 

But  such  a  babel  of  talk  and  confusion,  to  drown 
the  rousing  peals  of  music  that  Sydney  leapt  and 
danced  to  hear  !  Such  sights  and  scenes  as  Yolney 
kept  wishing  poor  Sydney  could  behold!  Here 
was  a  peddler  on  his  cart,  with  a  bushy  head  and 
a  broad  mouth,  crying,  "  New  cider  and  sweet 
metheglin  !"  and  for  half  a  mile  aAvay,  there  were 
echoes  answering  his  thunderous  clack.  There 
was  a  peddler  uncovering  a  stack  of  nut-brown 
gingerbread,  every  cake  of  it  ribbed  with  round 
beads,  and  glossy  as  a  varnished  violin.  Then 
they  came  to  a  stand  where  an  old  negro  cried, 
with  a  shrill  barking  voice,  "  Hot  corn  !  hot  corn ! 
ching-a-ling  a  bena !  quash-a-cowcumber!"  Further 
along,  a  wheel  of  fortune  was  rolling  to  a  crowd 
gathered  around  ;  then  another  peddler  uncovered 
his  load  and  cried,  "Gin,  wine,  and  brandy,  whisky, 
and  small  beer !"  Then  they  came  to  a  stand  kept 
by  an  old  lady,  who  sold  "candy,  peppermints, 
beer,  apples,  plums,  and  oceans  of  rare  ripe  peaches, 
tew  for  a  cent."  Then  a  peddler  ran  against  them 
^^•ith  a  pail  of  new  honc}^,  and  told  them  where  the 
best  small  beer  could  be  found.  Then,  there  were 
carts  of  tin  ware,  and  auction  carts.  Then  there 
were  book-peddlers,  and  men  selling  verses,  salve 


GENERAL    TRAINING.  93 

and  essence.  Then  came  up  an  old  hunter  with  a 
litter  of  little  spotted  puppies  in  a  basket,  wanting 
to  sell  them ;  and  Arthur  would  have  bought  one 
for  Sydney,  if  Ranger  had  not  been  living  as  de- 
voted as  ever  to  his  master's  care. 

Here  was  an  artillery -man  with  his  red  plume 
and  yellow  buttons  ;  there  was  a  rifleman  in  a  green 
coat ;  yonder  were  soldiers  of  the  light  infantry, 
in  white  plumes,  and  white  pants  and  facings ; 
and  beyond,  a  trooper  trying  to  mount  his  dancing 
horse,  and  his  cap  of  bear-skin  was  sidewise,  and 
his  white  plume  waved  in  the  wind ;  while  the 
militia  jostled  him  at  every  step,  and  the  noise  of 
the  rub-a-dubs  on  every  corner  almost  tore  out 
Sydney's  ears. 

They  passed  along,  and  the  pavilions  of  the 
showmen  astonished  their  wondering  gaze.  They 
entered  the  tavern,  and  there  stood  Wellington 
Golden  in  a  rakish  dress,  with  a  knowing  air,  and 
a  tossing  head,  mixing  liquors  and  selling  cigars, 
and  he  hardly  knew  that  Arthur  was  before  him, 
while  he  deigned  to  speak  to  the  other  boys. 
Arthur  stood  and  wondered  if  he  himself  would 
ever  rise  to  so  high  a  situation  as  that,  and  why 
he  should  be  kept  down.  They  entered  the  ball 
room,  and  there  were  fiddles  and  clarionets  going 
in  concert  with  fifes  and  drums,  and  soldiers  danc- 
ing in  the  greatest  glee. 

The  roll  was  called,  and  the  companies  and  regi- 


94:  GENERAL    TRAINING. 

ments  marshalled  to  the  field.  And  such  music, 
and  such  blazing  of  armor,  such  waving  of  ban- 
ners and  plumes,  and  such  prancing  of  proud 
horses  as  they  saw  !  Poor  Sydney  was  faint  with 
excitement,  and  Volney  and  Barney  kept  his  feel- 
ings in  a  foam,  by  unwittingly  wishing  in  his  ears 
that  he  could  see  the  things  which  their  eyes 
beheld.  And  as  for  Arthur,  he  could  not  repress 
the  hope,  that  some  day  he  might  be  a  mighty  offi- 
cer, in  Suwarrow  boots,  chapeau-de-bras  hat,  and 
white,  long  dancing  feather,  on  a  proud  dapple 
gray,  with  a  flashing  sword,  commanding  a  regi- 
ment in  which  the  Golden  boys  and  William  Pitt 
would  have  to  march  a  quick  step,  as  privates, 
while  Martha  Sumner  and  Betsey  Bronk  would 
look  on  as  spectators,  admiring  his  grand  parade. 

They  went  into  the  field  and  gazed  a  long  while 
at  the  trainers.  There  was  something  in  the  roll 
of  drums,  the  swell  of  music,  and  the  blaze  of  regi- 
mentals, that  held  him  as  in  a  fascination,  and  he 
could  hardly  turn  his  eyes  from  the  officers,  they 
looked  so  fine.  But  the  time  arrived  for  the  shows 
to  open,  and  they  went  and  saw  the  menagerie. 
From  thence  they  entered  the  other  pavilion,  and 
saw  the  wax  works  and  phantasmagoria,  and 
Sydney  enjoyed  the  music,  while  the  others  enjo}^- 
ed  the  sights.  They  moved  around  from  place  to 
place  through  the  day,  wishing  to  see  and  hear  all 
that  occurred  in  the  village. 


GENERAL     TRAINING.  95 

Long  before  night,  Arthur  sold  all  his  pewter 
pipes  for  a  shilling  a  piece,  and  bought  two  books 
at  auction  ;  he  also  bought  himself  a  knife,  a 
moulding  and  smooth  plane,  and  pair  of  suspend- 
ers ;  a  silk  pocket  handkerchief,  and  paper  of  pins 
for  Mrs.  Tyler,  while  he  and  his  friends  together 
bought  Sydney  a  fife,  and  a  copy  of  Easselas ;  and 
Sydney  kindled  all  over  with  smiles  of  joy,  antici- 
pating the  times  he  would  have  learning  music 
and  hearing  Arthur  read  his  book. 

Arthur  spent  nothing  for  drink,  except  a  glass 
of  sweet  cider  and  a  glass  of  small  beer,  which  he 
shared  with  Sydney.  He  bought  one  pan  of  gin- 
gerbread, which  be  could  not  have  eaten  alone ;  he 
bought  a  break  of  rusk,  and  a  little  jfruit,  of  which 
Sydney  was  forced  to  take  a  share,  and  he  was 
ready  to  start  for  home  at  an  early  hour. 

On  the  whole,  the  day  was  happy  for  him.  True, 
some  of  the  bold  village  bloods  of  his  age,  asked 
him  "  where  he  got  so  much  trowsers ;"  and  after 
Jason  whispered  to  Wellington  in  the  bar,  Welling- 
ton cried,  "  How  are  you,  aunt  Tarza  Tyler  ? 
where  'd  you  get  your  calf-skin  shoes  ?"  making 
the  great  crowd  roar  with  laughter.  Arthur  blush- 
ed and  dropped  his  head,  and  Billy  Bronk  stepped 
up  and  assured  him  he  was  more  of  a  man  than 
any  of  them.  And  as  William  Pitt  and  Bolivar 
came  in  and  took  up  the  laugh,  Billy  said — 
"  Sodom  !  if  any  body  '11  furnish  a  cage  I'll  ketch 


96  GENERAL     TRAINING. 

that  dandy  bar-boy  and  the  two  grinniu'  puppy 
dogs  outside,  and  sell  'em  to  the  caravan  for  apes 
or  Newfoun'landcrs."  But  Billy  was  in  liquor  and 
did  not  help  his  friend's  feelings.  Sydney  leaned 
against  Arthur,  pressed  his  hand,  and  sobbed  the 
grief  he  felt  for  him. 

They  went  and  found  the  rest  of  the  party,  and 
started  for  home.  But  poor  Volney  was  in  a  sor- 
rowful plight.  He  was  a  noble  soul,  free  and 
sweet-hearted  as  a  melon.  He  was  virtuous,  but 
he  loved  company  and  a  good  time  ;  he  had  drank 
too  much  at  the  training,  and  before  they  went 
half  a  mile  his  neck  grew  limber,  and  he  would 
have  reeled  to  the  ground  had  not  Arthur  caught 
him  in  his  arms.  It  was  well  that  the  sun  was 
three  long  hours  high.  They  saw  that  they  had 
time,  and  moved  Volney  out  of  sight  of  the  road, 
and  lay  down  Avith  him.  Volney  and  Barney  had 
eaten  but  little,  and  drinking  more  than  he  was 
aware,  the  liquor  overcame  him,  without  his  sus- 
pecting intoxication.  Arthur  opened  his  collar 
and  rubbed  his  chest  and  hands,  and  the  boy  soon 
threw  up  the  liquor,  but  he  could  not  yet  walk. 
After  half  an  hour,  Arthur  gave  him  a  rusk  and 
some  cake,  and  eating  that  he  began  to  feel  better ; 
the  effect  of  the  gin  passed  off',  and  in  an  hour, 
they  set  themselves  again  on  their  homeward  way. 

Volney  was  greatly  mortified  by  his  misfortune, 
and  wept  for  fear  it  would  disgrace  him.     The 


GENERAL    T  R  A  I  X  I  X  G  .  97 

boys  soothed  him  tenderly,  advised  him  never  to 
touch  another  droj?  of  liquor,  and  promLsed  to  keep 
it  a  secret  for  ever.  They  were  all  weary  enough 
when  they  got  home ;  but  Mrs.  Tyler  had  done 
Arthur's  chores,  and  prepared  supper  for  him  and 
Sydney,  and  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  it 
and  take  their  rest.  He  jjresented  the  gifts  he 
bought  for  her ;  and  cast  up  his  expense  account, 
finding  he  was  generous  at  the  training,  and  had 
money  to  lay  up  for  the  future.  He  had  denied 
himself  nothing  his  heart  could  wish ;  he  had  seen 
and  heard  all  he  desired  ;  it  was  exciting:  the  shows 
interested  him  much  ;  the  handsome  officers  still 
rode  with  waving  plumes  through  his  vision  as  the 
drooping  lids  fell  over  his  eyes ;  but  after  all,  he 
felt  no  better  for  going  ;  there  was  nothing  left  but 
his  books,  and  tools,  and  the  joy  of  sharing  with 
Sydney,  and  giving  to  Mrs.  Tyler,  to  continue  the 
satisfaction,  and  he  knew  not  if  he  cared  again  to 
go  to  general  training. 

His  kindness  to  Sydney  and  Mrs.  Tyler  did  his 
heart  good.  His  knife  and  planes  were  bought 
at  a  bargain,  and  supplied  a  long  want.  His 
books  were  worth  double  their  price,  and  he  would 
feast  freel}^  as  he  read  them.  They  were  interest- 
ing books.  One  was  Buck's  Beauties  of  Nature, 
and  the  other  a  Manual  on  Architecture.  His 
master  would  have  been  better  pleased  had  the  last 
been  a  cordwainer's  hand-book,  but  it  was  just  the 
5 


98  GENERAL    TRAINING. 

thing  to  feed  the  hunger  that  preyed  on  Arthur's 
mind.  It  set  forth  initial  suggestions  to  expand 
and  exalt  his  mind,  and  while  it  encouraged  archi- 
tecture as  one  of  the  fine  arts,  to  be  loved  and 
attained  for  its  own  beauty,  and  the  discipline  it 
offered ;  it  instanced  the  forms  of  nature  as  the 
types  of  its  great  ideals. 

Another  day  came,  and  the  boys,  feeling  little 
better  for  their  holiday,  set  themselves  again  to 
their  work.  But  Arthur  dropped  his  head  and 
sighed,  as  he  took  the  shoe-bench,  after  a  few  weeks 
work  on  the  farm.  He  got  along  well,  and  was 
seldom  scolded,  while  working  at  boots  and  shoes  ; 
but  his  heart  did  not  enter  the  shop,  and  he  wished 
he  could  be  at  another  trade. 

The  yellow  fields  and  blue  sky  never  bewitched 
him  with  a  heartier  longing  than  he  now  felt,  to 
be  out  where  he  could  mingle  more  frequently  with 
the  soul  of  autumn,  and  get  a  fresh  kiss  and 
warm  embrace  of  nature.  The  shop-windows  were 
open,  and  a  pleasant  breeze  floated  singing  through, 
but  the  breeze  wakened  sadness,  and  the  sunshine 
looked  in  to  remind  him  of  his  prison.  He  was 
glad  that  Yolney  liked  the  shoe-shop,  and  he  had 
no  doubt  but  Volney  would  rise  respected  to  a 
home  and  competence ;  but  Yolney  had  not  his 
feelings,  though  feelings  as  honorable  and  high, 
and  he  almost  sickened  with  confinement. 

The  sympathy  of  associates  was  cheering;  the 


GENEKAL    TRAINING.  99 

regards  of  the  Sumners  pillowed  his  throbbing 
temples  from  utter  grief;  Martha's  warm  and  sister- 
ly smile  was  particularly  soothing  to  his  heart,  as 
her  hand  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes;  yet  he 
grew  poor  and  looked  care-worn ;  he  was  nervous 
and  absent-minded,  and  his  master  took  him  sternly 
to  do.  Mr.  Tyler  thought  that  was  a  pretty  piece  of 
gratitude  for  the  favors  shown  him  for  a  few  months 
past,  and  began  to  load  him  with  new  hardships 
that  sunk  upon  his  nature  with  the  pressure  of  a 
screw. 

Mrs.  Tyler  ventured  a  remonstrance,  but  in  vain. 
Billy  Bronk  cried,  "  Sodom !"  and  said  if  Arthur 
had  the  spunk  of  a  mouse  he  would  waddle  away, 
or  bite  the  heel  that  trampled  him.  Mrs.  Sumner 
wished  he  could  show  more  spirit  now.  But  what 
was  he  to  gain  by  resentment,  or  running  away  ? 
He  only  pined  still  more,  and  grew  more  nervous 
and  absent-minded ;  and  that  his  master  thought 
intolerable,  and  after  another  year's  trial,  in  a  pas- 
sion, he  took  the  boy  from  the  shop  and  placed 
him  in  a  rope-walk  to  cure  him. 


VIII. 

PARSON     DIL  WORTH'S     SERMON. 

EuLEFF  Gordon  kept  the  rope-walk  in  which 
Arthur  was  placed,  Ruleff  Gordon  was  a  middle- 
aged,  sleek-headed  man,  speaking  slowly,  in  a  nasal 
voice ;  standing  not  more  than  five  feet  three  in 
his  shoes,  and  suffering  less  inconvenience  from  a 
near  sight  and  short  neck,  than  from  the  extra 
pounds  of  flesh  he  was  now  beginning  to  carry. 

He  made  little  conversation  with  his  most  inti- 
mate friends.  He  expressed  little  in  his  counte- 
nance, for  it  was  always  flushed  from  a  flow  of 
blood  to  the  head.  He  gave  little  feeling  or  char- 
acter to  his  cadence  ;  or  if  he  attempted  to  give  it, 
the  expression  was  lost  in  the  winding  passage  of 
his  nose,  while  his  voice  was  flat  and  drawling,  A 
stranger  might  think  he  had  no  feeling  in  his  heart. 
Mr,  Tyler  thought  so,  A  stranger  miglit  suppose 
he  slept  so  much  nights,  he  could  not  see  through 
men's  designs  and  deeds ;  and  was  capable  of 
judging  nothing  so  well  as  a  flitch  of  bacon,  or  a 


PARSON    DILWORTH's     SERMON.     101 

dinner  of  roast  beef,  washed  down  with  metheglin 
or  cider.  All  were  convinced  by  demonstration 
that  he  had  wit  enough,  however,  to  spin  tow  and 
manilla,  and  twist  cords  and  ropes  three  and  four 
stranded. 

But  Ruleff  Gordon  was  a  man  of  many  thoughts 
and  deep  discernments,  if  he  was  slow  and  sleepy, 
and  beneath  all  those  coarse  concentric  circles  of 
fat  and  lean,  a  man's  large  heart  ticked  the  time 
like  an  old-fashioned  clock,  and  heaved  his  breast 
like  an  engine,  throwing  out  to  his  fingers  and  toes 
warm  surges  of  the  kindest  feeling. 

And  the  life  Ruleflf  spun,  was  no  piere  string  of 
refuse  hemp,  or  cord  of  swingling-tow ;  but  a  strong 
and  many-stranded  rope  of  all  the  dressed  virtues 
of  goodness  and  truth ;  a  cable  of  confidence  for  all 
who  anchored  their  trust  in  him. 

Ruleflf's  wife  was  taller  than  he;  at  least,  she 
looked  so  ;  she  was  thin  and  white  ;  she  had  shovel 
teeth,  a  long  spindle  neck,  and  long  hands  and 
arms  ;  her  eyes  and  hair  were  light ;  her  voice  was 
broken,  and  she  leaned  well  forward  to  her  move- 
ments. But  she  was  keen-witted  and  free-hearted, 
and  all  good  persons  who  knew  her  loved  to  speak 
her  praise.  They  had  very  likely  children.  They 
owned  a  few  green  acres  with  the  rope-walk,  and 
were  good  and  thrifty  livers. 

The  rope-walk  had  many  windows,  looking  out 
upon  a  charming  landscape,  and  to  be  sent  there 


102     PARSON    DILWORTn's    SERMON. 

was  to  find  one's  lines  falling  in  a  very  cheerful 
place,  though  it  might  not  suppress  a  desire  with 
which  his  being  had  been  struggling.  What  if  it 
was  not  the  trade  of  Arthur's  choice,  and  wanted 
little  wit,  and  typed  but  a  few  ideas  ?  What  if 
Lusia  Waxwood  leered  very  genteelly  on  the  move- 
ment, and  Wilham  Pitt  joked  him  unfeelingly,  and 
Wellington,  passing  on  a  hard  ride,  called  him  all' 
littered  and  linted  to  the  window,  and  cried,  "Take 
in  your  tow,  aunt  Tarza  Tyler,  it  is  going  to  rain"  ? 
He  liked  it  far  better  than  the  shoe-shop. 

And  though  he  was  still  sensitive  to  what  people 
said,  he  began  to  Care  less  about  their  speeches  than 
ever  before ;  and  while  he  felt  a  spirit  of  manly  in- 
dependence slowly  creeping  up  his  heart,  even  in  a 
rope-walk  he  could  stand  on  his  feet,  and  walk  at 
his  work,  several  rods,  looking  out  of  a  row  of 
pleasant  windows  on  either  side.  Then,  he  had 
time  to  read,  mornins:,  noon,  and  nisrht.  Buck's 
Beauties  of  Nature  were  soon  devoured,  and  all 
their  bright  pictures  transferred  to  his  mind,  and 
Daniel  Dale  came  at  night  and  explained  to  him 
the  rules  and  types  of  architecture.  His  friends 
redoubled  their  sympathies,  and  Martha  Sumner 
visited  often  at  Gordon's,  brought  books  for  Arthur 
to  read,  and  sung  her  sweetest  songs  in  his  hearing. 
And  how  much  higher  than  she  was  Lusia  Wax- 
wood,  that  Arthur  should  feel  grieved  by  the  look 
of  scorn  she  gave  him  ?     As  for  personal  beauties, 


PARSoisr  dilworth's  sermon.    103 

Ophelia  Golden  could  boast  them,  and  she  added 
new  and  blooming  charms  each  new  and  blooming 
year.  Arthur  loved  to  look  on  a  beautiful  human 
form,  and  admire  the  art  of  the  infinite  Sculptor, 
who  adorns  our  world  with  such  works  ;  he  loved 
to  look  on  Ophelia,  but  why  should  he  care  if  she 
scorned  him,  while  Martha  Sumner  continued  her 
sweet  smiles  ? 

In  what  could  Arthur  envy  Wellington  ?  His 
opportunities  at  least.  And  Bolivar  ?  His  educa- 
tion and  his  chances  to  rise.  And  William  Pitt  ? 
His  liberty  of  choosing  his  own  vocation  ;  his  time ; 
his  books  and  teachers.  And  not  envy  him  in 
his  vast  expectations,  and  the  honors  of  caste  to 
which  his  profession  would  exalt  him  ?  No,  he 
had  no  reason  to,  although  he  did  not  unnaturally 
indulge  the  passion  sometimes. 

But  Mr.  Gordon  did  not  sanction  Mr.  Tyler's 
conduct,  and  Arthur's  friends  were  indignant,  and 
remonstrated  with  him  against  that  last  movement. 
They  insisted  that  Arthur  ought  to  go  to  the  trade 
that  would  be  the  best  for  him.  They  pleaded,  they 
rebuked,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Mr.  Tyler  knew 
his  own  rights  and  business,  and  he  could  attend  to 
them  all  without  their  aid.  He  had  taken  the  boy 
and  given  him  a  home,  he  said,  when  others  would 
have  turned  him  into  the  street ;  he  had  brought  him 
up  so  far,  and  he  could  fulfil  the  duties  of  his 
charge.     Billy  Bronk  made  much  ado  about  it,  and 


10-i     PAESON    DILWOETn's    SEEMON. 

Mrs.  Bronk  declared,  if  she  were  Abel  Tyler,  slie 
would  treat  an  orphan  better,  or  she  would  stop 
talking  about  joining  the  church. 

Parson  Dihvorth  was  an  earnest  sympathizer  on 
this  subject,  and  he  preached  a  sermon  on  Training 
Children.  It  was  a  fine  Sunday  morning",  and  a 
full  and  smiling  congregation  responded  to  his 
smiles,  and  the  smiles  of  the  splendid  sky.  He 
took  that  familiar  text,  "  Train  up  a  child  in  the 
way  he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  not 
depart  from  it." 

"  A  familiar  old  proverb  have  we  here,"  said  the 
preacher ;  "  and  one  that  can  never  be  worse  for 
wear  ;  and  many  refer  it  exclusively  to  moral  and 
religious  culture.  But  I  will  give  it  a  new  applica- 
tion to-day.  I  will  name  another  kind  of  training ; 
I  will  speak  on  the  labors  of  life,  and  the  duty  of 
parents  to  train  up  children  in  those  employments 
for  which  each  manifests  most  talent  and  inclina- 
tion. This  great  subject  is  too  seldom  considered. 
How  sadly  have  parents  erred  in  this  matter ! 
How  seldom  has  the  child's  talent  or  inclination 
been  consulted,  whilst  the  parent's  caprice  or  cupid- 
ity has  been  gTatified ! 

"  A  man,  for  instance,  has  a  family  of  sons,  John, 
Peter,  Welman,  Jared,  Henry,  and  Jacob.  John  is 
a  robust  boy  of  sinewy  arms,  and  iron  nerves. 
Peter  is  a  forward  favorite,  getting  credit  for  full 
as  much  as  he  knows.     Jared  has  a  slight  frame. 


PARSON    DILWORTH's    SERMON.      105 

and  no  taste  or  talent,  to  learu  a  trade.  Welman 
has  a  frame  well  knit  for  strength  and  activity ; 
and  yet  he  is  proud  and  lazy,  and  declares  he 
will  never  work  for  a  living.  Henry  is  harmless, 
and  slow-witted.  Jacob  has  great  vivacity ;  he  is 
always  in  motion,  always  perceiving  lovely  forms 
and  fine  proportions;  he  is  ingenious  in  many 
things,  but  longs  to  go  to  a  particular  trade. 

"And  now  what  shall  that  father  do  with  his 
sons,  and  how  shall  he  choose  their  avocations? 
He  soon  decides  the  question.  John  shall  be  a 
farmer;  it  will  just  suit  his  iron  sinews  to  till  the 
rugged  soil.  As  for  the  family  favorite,  the  know- 
ing one,  the  bold,  brazen  Peter,  he  shall  be  a  law- 
yer. Welman,  the  proud  boy,  the  lazy  lover  of 
sleep  and  fine  clothing,  shall  get  into  a  bar,  or  be  a 
clerk  in  a  store.     Jared  shall  be  a  tailor. 

"And  what  shall  be  done  with  Henry?  He 
is  not  quite  strong  enough  for  a  farmer.  He  never 
would  make  a  lawyer  in  his  life,  for  impudence 
would  fail  him ;  beside,  he  is  slow-witted  and  dis- 
likes a  quarrel.  He  would  not  make  a  clerk ;  he 
could  not  tell  a  smooth  story  to  set  out  a  silk,  or  a 
fresh  chest  of  tea,  nor  stand  for  dimes  or  pennies. 
He  would  not  make  a  tailor;  and  what  can  be 
done  with  slow-witted  Henry  ?  O,  he  has  it  now  1 
and  why  did  he  not  think  before  ?  Henry  shall  be 
a  minister. 

"Jacob   is   left;    active,    thoughtful,   ingenious 
5* 


106     PARSON    DIL  worth's    SERMON. 

Jacob,  and  what  shall  be  his  trade  ?  He  has  a  con- 
ceptive  mind,  that  loves  mathematics  and  takes  sug- 
gestions from  the  noblest  types  and  structures  on 
earth,  and  he  longs  to  design  fabrics  and  work  in 
wood ;  but  his  father  has  cupidity  to  feed  and  ca- 
price to  gratify,  and  he  forces  Jacob  into  the  shoe- 
shop,  and  bids  him  learn  to  peg  and  pare  shoes. 

"  Some  of  the  neighbors  compliment  this  father 
on  the  wise  judgment  shown  in  selecting  employ- 
ments for  his  sons.  But  will  that  be  a  training 
from  which  they  will  not  depart?  How  does  it 
turn  out  with  John  the  farmer  ?  He  has  strength 
enough  for  his  calling ;  he  knows  it  is  most  honor- 
able ;  but  where  is  his  love  for  that  avocation  ? 
The  love  is  lacking,  nor  can  the  rod  beat  it  into  his 
heart.  Where  is  the  lofty  mind  to  idealize  the 
types  of  beauty,  hope  and  love,  that  bu^  and  bloom 
beneath  his  eye  ?  Where  is  the  wise  spirit  to  take 
discipline  from  the  plough,  and  scj^the,  and  flail, 
and  bring  forth  harvests  of  faith  and  virtue  in  his 
soul,  while  he  makes  a  garden  of  his  farm  ?  Alas ! 
he  has  them  not,  and  departs  from  the  way  before 
he  is  old,  as  little  a  farmer  as  he  began. 

"What  becomes  of  Peter,  the  lawyer?  He 
makes  out  no  better.  He  has  impudence  to  the 
brim,  and  running  over.  He  could  be  trained  to 
intrigue ;  he  could  learn  to  quote  unwritten  law, 
and  lie  to  a  jury  after  a  while,  with  an  uncleaving 
tongue  and  an  unquailing  eye.     He  could  take  a 


PARSON"    DILWORTH's    SERMON.      107 

fat  fee  without  a  scruple.  But  lie  lacks  talent,  in- 
dustry, subtlety,  judgment,  integrity,  eloquence. 
And  when  has  he  detected  those  higher  laws  of 
truth  and  right  that  would  bring  the  world  into 
harmony,  and  recompense  the  wronged  ?  Nobody 
knows ;  and  finding  no  business,  he  dabbles  a  little 
in  several  callings :  turns  politician,  perhaps,  and 
seeks  office  for  honor  and  wages ;  or  becomes  an 
agent,  or  an  editor ;  or,  failing  again,  sets  to  in- 
triguing for  the  earnings  of  others ;  or  goes  off 
west  and  speculates  in  shingle  palaces  and  paper 
cities ;  or  is  away  to  Peru,  seeking  gold  and  dia- 
monds, 

"And  what  of  Jared,  the  tailor?  He  fails  also. 
It  was  a  most  unfortunate  choice  to  make  him  a  tailor. 
For  his  slender  frame,  a  tailor's  shop  is  the  worst 
of  all  places.  He  needs  open  air  and  exercise. 
Better  have  put  him  on  a  farm ;  he  is  apt  at  farm- 
work,  and  that  employment  would  give  him 
strength  and  health,  and  a  noble  discipline  of  soul. 
But  he  makes  a  forlorn  tailor.  His  health  suffers ; 
besides,  he  has  not  an  artist's  eye  and  talent  to  rise 
above  bungling  mediocrity ;  the  trade  does  not 
teach  him  to  cut  and  fit  garments  for  his  soul,  and 
he  departs  from  the  way,  disgusted,  involved,  dis- 
heartened, and  will  be  poor  and  unhappy  all  his 
born  days,  unless  he  finds,  before  it  is  too  late,  the 
occupation  for  which  God  gave  him  talent. 

"And  what  is  the  fortune  of  Welman?     Does 


108      PARSON    DIL  worth's    SERMON. 

he  acquire  a  fortune,  and  indulge  bis  pride,  and 
sleep,  and  fine  clothing  ?  No !  his  fate  is  a  warning 
to  parents.  Tending  bar  is  too  slavish  work,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  temptations  to  intemperance  and 
the  habits  of  a  vagabond,  and  the  sins  one  must 
carry  away  from  the  liquor  trafiic  to  the  bar  of  God. 
He  quits  bar-tending  and  j^cddles.  Then  he  sells 
patent  rights ;  then  he  gets  into  a  store  and  dreanis 
of  becoming  a  rich  merchant.  But  there,  too,  he 
finds  a  round  of  labors  and  a  burden  of  cares  for 
which  his  love  of  idleness  ill  prepares  him. 

"He  manages  along,  while  his  employer  is  by,  to 
keep  up  an  appearance  of  attention  to  his  business ; 
but  in  his  absence  he  does  little  but  lounge  and 
smoke,  shave  his  forehead  and  brush  his  hair.  He 
gets  so  foppish  and  insolent  he  drives  away  cus- 
tomers. His  passion  for  dress  and  show  overleaps 
his  means.  His  style  and  air  draw  dandies  around 
him,  and  he  is  driven  to  every  shift  to  maintain  his 
position.  At  last  he  embezzles  money,  and  then 
forges  an  endorsement,  and  you  know  the  way  of 
his  downfall  and  wo. 

"His  parents  are  at  fault  for  the  errors  and 
miseries  of  his  ill  life.  His  mother  first  wakened 
in  him  that  foolish  pride,  that  love  of  dress  and 
ease.  His  mother  poisoned  his  heart  with  false 
views  of  virtue  and  manhood,  and  his  father  sent 
him  to  the  wrong  avocation.  He  had  naturally 
many  good  traits ;  he  had  talents  for  some  manly 


PARSON    DIL  worth's    SERMON.      109 

labor  and  at  that  labor  he  might  have  been  good 
and  happy. 

"  And  what  do  I  hear  of  Henry,  the  minister  ? 
He  continues  harmless ;  but  has  he  a  taste  for  theo- 
logical studies?  Has  he  a  talent  for  acceptable 
sermons  ?  a  good  delivery  ?  a  knowledge  of  the 
wants  of  his  people  ?  discretion,  and  the  soul  and 
manners  of  a  pastor  with  all  qualifications  to  sus- 
tain himself  year  after  year,  and  rise  to  respect, 
and  prosper  in  his  profession  ?  Alas  for  Henry, 
he  lacks  nearly  all !  He  makes  the  best  he  can  of 
the  selection.  He  prepares  a  few  passable  sermons, 
and  taking  a  hint  from  Addison,  he  follows  the 
example  of  Eoger  de  Coverley's  pastor,  and  often 
reads  from  some  of  the  great  masters,  a  good  print- 
ed sermon.  He  dresses  with  dignity  :  he  puts 
on  a  white  neckcloth  and  gold  spectacles,  and 
appears  learned  and  gifted.  The  profession  helps 
him  to  credit  for  learning  and  accomplishments 
he  does  not  possess,  and  he  remains  in  the  ministry 
half  a  dozen  years.  During  that  time  he  has  been 
heard  as  a  candidate  by  a  dozen  societies ;  elected 
pastor  of  five,  and  left  the  five  worse  off  than  he 
found  them, 

"  And  what  becomes  of  Jacob  ?  I  have  not 
heard.  He  is  a  noble  and  capable  boy ;  he  has 
talent  to  excel  in  many  things,  but  his  clear  and 
conceptive  mind,  and  love  of  form  and  order,  mark 
him  for  a  builder ;  he  pines  and  sorrows  at  the 


110      PARSON    DIL  worth's    SERMON. 

trade  for  wliicli  he  has  no  love,  and  at  which  his 
father  keeps  him.  You  see  that  he  has  been  train- 
ed in  a  way  contrary  to  his  nature  and  genius,  and 
it  must  be  feared  that  before  he  is  old  he  will 
depart  from  it. 

"  Thus  endeth  our  account  of  a  family  of  sons, 
who  might  have  been  virtuous  in  life,  and  success- 
ful in  their  calling,  had  their  characters  been 
studied,  their  gifts  ascertained,  and  their  appropri- 
ate callings  chosen." 

Parson  Dilworth  proceeded  to  other  illustrations. 
He  remarked  on  the  beauty  of  the  figure  contained 
in  the  text.  This  training,  he  said,  was  a  word 
gardeners  used  to  describe  a  particular  culture  of 
trees  and  vines.  A  gardener  never  trained  a  tree 
to  make  it  bear  contrary  to  nature.  He  never 
attempted  by  training,  to  gather  grapes  of  thorns, 
or  figs  of  thistles.  Inoculation  and  grafting  would 
sometimes  accomplish  a  similar  end.  But  training 
was  not  undertaken  for  that  purpose.  The  training 
of  trees  was  undertaken  to  call  out  the  excellen- 
cies already  in  them ;  to  improve  their  life  and 
favor  their  inclination.  One  of  these  objects  was 
sought  by  gaining  advantage  over  an  unfavorable 
climate,  as  when  a  vine  was  trained  on  a  wall  to 
bring  it  into  a  warm  temperature.  It  was  another 
object  to  improve  the  fruit  in  size  and  flavor. 

The  Scripture  said,  "  Train  up  a  child,"  &c.,  and 
what  could  the  proverb  mean  ?     To  take  a  charac- 


PARSON    DILWORTH'S    SERMON.      Ill 

ter  wtose  qualities  and  inclinations  are  known, 
and  improve  its  condition,  enrich  tlie  quality,  and 
enlarge  the  number  of  its  flowers  and  fruits.  He 
•himself  had  trained  a  rose-bush  till  it  blossomed  all 
over,  even  on  the  tips  of  its  branches  ;  and  had  pro- 
duced fine  pippins  from  the  hard  little  vinegar 
crab.  He  brought  forth  distinguished  characters 
for  illustration,  and  concluded  with  an  appeal  that 
wrought  a  great  sensation.  There  were  several 
parents  present  whose  lips  quivered,  and  whose 
cheeks  crimsoned  with  emotion.  The  sermon  must 
have  made  hard  hits  very  near  the  pulpit.  Billy 
Bronk  heard  it,  and  he  declared  it  raised  a  breeze 
in  the  old  church,  for  he  could  see  the  topsails 
flutter  and  figure-heads  dance. 

Many  were  glad  the  parson  preached  the  sermon. 
Mrs.  Tyler  did  not  regret  it,  although  she  blushed 
with  innocent  confusion,  when  the  eyes  of  the  con- 
gregation passed  around  with  accusing  glances  from 
others  to  her  husband.  Mr.  Tyler  was  touched  on 
a  spring  which  darted  a  thrilling  shock  through  his 
body  and  soul.  He  was  hit  in  a  tender  spot.  He 
was  very  poor  society  for  his  good  wife  the  rest  of 
that  da}'-,  and  all  the  day  after.  He  was  absent- 
minded,  irritable,  rueful.  He  swallowed  his  meals 
in  half  his  usual  time,  asked  for  things  he  had  on 
his  plate,  scratched  his  head  at  the  table,  stretched 
and  blowed,  and  took  a  whole  cup  of  hot  tea  at  a 


112      PARSON     DIL  worth's    SERMON. 

drink.  He  rolled  and  tossed  on  his  pillow,  moaned 
in  his  sleep,  of  loss  and  disappointment,  and  then 
brightened  with  a  smile,  and  still  dreaming  said — 
"  I  have  him  yet, — he  was  bound  to  me, — I  will 
take  his  wages,  or  he  shall  buy  his  time." 

He  rose,  swallowed  his  breakfast  and  went  over 
to  Gordon's  and  saw  Arthur.  It  wrenched  like 
tooth-drawing  to  turn  from  his  determined  way. 
He  was  shocked  by  the  thought  of  apologies ;  yet 
conscience  had  been  spurred  to  action,  and  it  forced 
him  to  a  small  confession.  He  confessed  he  had 
not  always  treated  Arthur  as  so  good  a  boy  deserv- 
ed, and  he  might  go  to  the  trade  he  liked  that  day, 
if  he  desired  to.  But  as  he  had  taken  him  when 
young  and  friendless,  and  reared  him  in  comfort, 
diligence,  and  virtue,  he  felt  entitled  to  his  earnings 
till  Arthur  was  twenty-one.  Yet  he  would  not  be 
hard  upon  an  orphan,  and  if  Arthur  would  give 
him  half  his  wages  and  clothe  himself;  or  promise 
to  give  him  two  hundred  dollars  out-and-out,  for 
his  time,  he  would  let  him  go  free  and  ask  no  more 
of  him. 

Arthur  took  him  u]?  on  the  last  proposition. 
But  as  those  were  slippery  times,  Mr.  Tyler  put  in 
another  condition  ;  Arthur  must  give  him  good 
security.  "  Write  and  sign  your  articles,"  said 
Gordon,  with  more  good  heart  than  he  could  drawl 
through  the   winding  chambers  of  that  resonant 


PARSON    DILWORTH's    SERMON.      113 

nose, — "  Write  and  sign  your  articles,  and  I'll  go 
the  boy's  security.  He  sli'l  liev  one  friend  at  least 
to  lift  liim  on  his  feet." 

The  papers  were  signed,  and  witnessed,  and 
Arthur  flew  home  for  his  clothes,  and  parted  with 
Mrs.  Tyler  and  Sydney.  It  was  a  happy  day  for 
them  all,  they  were  so  glad  of  his  emancipation, 
and  yet  they  were  very  sad  at  parting.  Blind 
Sydney  sobbed  aloud ;  and  the  free  tears  trickled 
from  his  sightless  eyes.  "  My  best  brother,"  said 
the  boy,  "  you  must  not  go  off  again,  I  am  so  lone- 
some when  you  are  not  here  to  read,  and  talk,  and 
lead  me  to  the  fields ;  you  must  not  leave  poor 
Sydney."  Then  Sydney  pressed  his  hand  convul- 
sively, and  passed  his  own  over  Arthur's  face,  as  if 
feeling  for  a  parting  look,  and  said  as  soon  as  he 
could  restrain  his  grief,  "  You  r)%ay  go,  brother 
Arthur,  and  do  better,  but  you  must  be  brother 
still,  and  come  and  read  to  Sydney  when  you  can. 
You  viay  go,  Arthur,  and  do  better." 

Mrs.  Tyler  clasped  his  neck  and  wept  upon  him 
saying,  he  vfiust  come  often  and  see  her  and  Sydney, 
for  she  did  not  feel  worse  when  Jane  left  home. 
Arthur  knew  their  gTief  by  his  own,  yet  he  could 
not  see  their  tears,  for  his  own  tears  blinded  his 
eyes.  He  said  she  was  his  mother,  and  he  would 
love  her  like  a  son,  and  love  Sydney  and  all,  and 
come  home  often,  and  remember  all  their  kind- 
nesses and  blessings. 


114     PARSON     DILWORTH's     SERMON. 

Mrs.  Tyler  prayed  God  to  hold  Arthur  in  His 
heart,  and  Arthur  called  on  her  and  Sydney  the 
same  benediction.  He  tore  himself  away  from 
their  clasps,  and  ran  sobbing  from  the  door-yard. 
Sydney  reeled  upon  his  bed.  Eanger  ran  and  licked 
Arthur's  hand  and  returned  to  comfort  his  master. 
Mrs.  Tyler  watched  Arthur  till  he  was  out  of 
sight,  and  sunk  in  her  chair,  and  the  sun  was  on 
the  noon-mark  before  she  thought  of  dinner. 
Arthur  went  to  Daniel  Dale,  and  was  taken  as  an 
apprentice  to  the  trade  of  a  builder.  Almost  the 
first  lesson  in  architecture  which  he  took  after  his 
engagement  there,  was  from  Pisa  Cathedral  and 
York  Minster,  that  he  found  in  pictures  on  Mrs. 
Dale's  new  cups  and  plates. 


IX. 

BEGINNING    TO    BUILD. 

Daniel  Dale  would  liurt  one  shaking  liands, 
his  fingers  and  palms  were  so  hardened,  swinging 
the  broad-axe  and  shoving  the  plane,  and  his  grip 
had  such  alacrity  in  it.  At  that  season  also,  he 
was  as  brown  as  the  leaves,  and  his  neglected  hair 
and  careless  attire,  gave  him  a  coarse  and  unhand- 
some look.  Yet  those  fine  hazel  eyes  that  flashed 
forth  Daniel's  soul,  could  be  neither  calloused  by 
labor,  nor  tanned  by  the  sunshine,  nor  disfigured 
by  the  roughest  raiment  that  he  wore.  And  who- 
ever met  him  in  March,  saw  a  tall,  round  symmet- 
rical person,  elegant  hair,  tasty  attire,  clean  and 
manly  hands,  and  a  very  noble  face  of  light  and 
lively  complexion,  all  lustrous  with  intelligence, 
and  ruddy  with  good  will. 

He  was  intelligent  and  good  as  he  looked,  a 
master  of  his  trade,  a  planner  and  worker.  He 
was  not  past  thirty,  and  had  a  wife,  as  Billy  Bronk 
said,  built,  rigged,  and  launched  for  him,  she  was 


116  BEGINNING    TO    BUILD. 

SO  near  his  equal  in  heart  and  person ;  and  thty 
had  a  son  and  two  daughters  to  gladden  their  life, 
and  furnish  a  hopeful  and  happy  home.  Their 
house  was  more  pleasant,  as  they  owned  it  free  of 
debt,  and  Daniel  built  it  with  his  own  tasty  hands, 
and  planned  it  for  comfort ;  and  Sibyl  brought  most 
of  the  furniture  from  her  dear  mother's,  with  a  neat 
parlor  carpet,  mats,  quilts,  curtains,  screens,  a  bureau 
full  of  linens,  and  a  chest  full  of  flannels,  on  which 
the  gladliest  hours  of  her  girlhood  had  been  em- 
ployed. They  had  a  book-case  which  Daniel 
made  evenings  and  rainy  days,  and  many  good 
books  were  on  its  shelves. 

That  was  just  the  place  for  Arthur  Sumner,  and 
his  heart  leapt  with  joy  and  gratitude,  as  there  he 
found  his  welcome  home.  Daniel  Dale  had  just 
commenced  framing  a  house,  at  a  place  called  Falk- 
land, about  five  miles  from  Sydnc}^,  and  on  the 
next  morning,  Arthur  went  over  with  handsaws 
and  jack-planes,  on  the  handle  of  an  adz,  slapping 
and  ringing  on  his  back  ;  chalk  and  chalk-lines, 
compasses  and  scratch  awls,  in  his  pockets,  and 
augers,  chisels,  and  mallets  in  his  hands.  He  was 
not  ashamed  to  go  barefooted,  and  save  all  the 
shoes  he  had,  till  he  could  earn  money  for  more. 
He  was  not  more  grieved  at  the  set  of  his  trowsers 
than  if  two  suspenders  had  held  them  up,  and  they 
had  covered  the  bones  of  his  sun-brown  ankles. 
A  short-skirted  coat  was  no  grievance  either  on 


BEGINNING    TO    BUILD.  117 

that  freedom  day,  nor  the  long,  dingy  vest  once 
worn  bj  his  former  master,  nor  his  tow-shirt  collar, 
nor  a  straw  hat  beginning  to  leak  and  litter. 

No,  in  such  a  suit,  under  such  a  burden,  his  soul 
stood  erect,  his  spirit  wore  a  bright  and  beautiful 
apparel,  and  though  he  had  company  to  Falkland, 
he  often  forgot  to  talk,  and  whistled  and  sung  un- 
conscious   answers    to    their   words.      Wellington 

It  o 

passed  him  on  his  way  to  his  stand  in  the  bar  of 
the  Hampden  House,  and  his  spruce  attire  and 
trim,  contrasted  strikingly  with  Arthur's ;  but  he 
could  not  feel  more  happy,  nor  had  he  reason 
to  feel  larger  or  better ;  although  he  called  him 
Aunt  Tarza  Tyler  again,  told  him  the  pigs  had 
nestled  in  his  hat,  and  asked  if  he  was  going  to 
boss  the  building. 

They  arrived  at  Falkland,  and  moved  among  the 
timbers.  And  whistling  still,  Arthur  sat  down  to 
bore  and  beat  his  first  mortise ;  and  awkwardly 
enough  he  leaned  the  auger  sidewise  and  endwise 
as  he  bored,  and  then  sat  astride  the  timber  to  beat 
the  mortise.  The  older  apprentice  and  journey- 
man laughed,  and  Daniel  told  him  to  sit  sidewise. 

The  timber  was  a  plate,  laid  out  with  post-mor- 
tises, brace-mortises,  and  rafter-gains.  The  post- 
mortices  were  to  go  through,  and  instead  of  boring 
and  beating  half  way  as  he  was  told,  and  then 
turning  the  timber,  and  boring  and  beating  into 
the   same   cuts,  and  taking  the  broad-chisel  and 


118  BEGINNING    TO    BUILD. 

dressing  out  a  long,  straight,  square  mortise,  his 
feelings  made  him  forget,  and  attempt  his  way 
through  the  timber  without  turning,  and  he  made 
a  bad  piece  of  work  of  it. 

The  mistake  was  discovered  by  others,  before  the 
timber  was  spoiled,  but  Arthur  was  deeply  morti- 
fied, and  expected  a  rebuke,  while  Daniel  smiled, 
gave  him  a  pleasant  joke,  and  said  he  would  re- 
member next  time.  He  framed  the  plate  very 
well  for  a  new  beginner,  and  before  night  he  com- 
menced on  a  post,  and  like  to  have  beaten  a  mor- 
tise where  Daniel  had  laid  out  a  tenon :  he  com- 
menced a  rafter-gain  for  a  brace-mortise,  and  began 
a  slanting  brace-mortise  where  the  tenon  of  a  beam 
was  to  go. 

These  mistakes  caused  other  laughs  and  jokes, 
but  not  such  as  Wellington  and  the  other  boys 
raised  about  aunt  Tarza  Tyler's  calf-skin  shoes,  at 
training.  They  were  kindly,  and  accompanied 
with  the  assurance  that  the  whole  trade  was  not  to 
be  learned  in  a  day ;  that  even  his  master  made 
mistakes  the  first  day,  and  since ;  that  framing  a 
house  was  more  difficult  than  framing  little  build- 
ings and  bedsteads  with  a  gimlet  and  knife ;  and 
all  he  had  to  do  was  to  remember  his  mistakes  and 
go  on  learning  to  the  end. 

Volney  Summerton  left  his  shoe-bench  to  go  and 
wish  Arthur  joy,  and  as  he  called  into  Popinjay's 
shop  on  his  way,  Barney  lost  a  rare  welding  heat 


BEGINNING    TO    BUILD.  119 

to  express  his  gladness,  and  send  Arthur  a  friend's 
warm  heart,  filled  full  of  good  hopes  and  wishes. 
Billy  Bronk  came  along  in  the  afternoon,  and  told 
Arthur  he  could  fire  a  broadside,  he  was  so  glad  to 
see  his  vessel  done  knocking  amidst  the  breakers, 
and  floating  full  sail  on  a  pleasant  sea.  Billy  sat 
down  on  the  timber  and  reeled  sailor  yarns  for  two 
hours,  and  Daniel  Dale  paused,  leaning  on  his 
square,  picking  his  teeth  with  the  compasses  and 
heard  him.  Billy  tossed  around  some  mellow 
apples  and  left.  Then  Dr.  "Waxwood  reined  in 
liis  dashing  horse,  and  paused  in  his  dancing  sulky, 
to  ask  when  they  were  going  to  raise,  and  with 
half  a  leer  and  half  a  sneer,  he  told  Arthur  he 
hoped  that  treatment  would  break  up  his  fever,  and 
he  would  soon  be  convalescent.  Then  up  rode 
Bolivar  in  a  foam  to  call  him  to  a  patient  in  his 
office,  and  while  the  leering  doctor  gave  the  bit  to 
his  steed,  a  cloud  of  dust  received  him  out  of 
sight.  Bolivar  rested  in  his  saddle,  took  off  his 
gloves,  and  his  parasol  hat,  and  while  wiping  his 
forehead  genteelly,  he  hoped  Arthur  would  be  satis- 
fied now,  and  not  get  above  his  business. 

William  Pitt  was  taking  a  holiday  that  afternoon, 
and  past  he  drove  with  Ophelia  and  Andalusia,  who 
loved  to  flirt  with  him.  Pitt  was  a  swarthy  blade, 
and  very  plain  looking.  His  long,  thin,  winding 
nose  made  such  a  conspicuous  display,  Billy  Bronk 
kept  thinking  it  was  held  out  for  sale,  and  offered 


120  BEGINNING    TO     BUILD. 

to  buy  it  to  set  on  a  block  in  his  cow-yard  and 
split  pumpkins  on.  His  chin  was  long,  and  his 
eyes  were  small  and  closely  set ;  and  had  you  heard 
his  voice,  you  would  have  feared  he  would  make  a 
ludicrous  lawyer. 

Yet  he  dressed  in  a  way  to  make  the  very  best 
of  his  looks ;  it  was  a  great  thing  to  sit  with  one's 
feet  on  a  chair,  and  smoke  a  cigar,  and  swear,  and 
read  law  in  an  office;  many  listened  with  open- 
mouthed  wonder  at  the  marvellous  race  his  nimble 
tongue  would  run  on  the  Greek  alphabet  and  Latin 
quotations,  and  his  hopes  were  so  vast  no  one  could 
be  surprised  that  Lusia  and  Philly  accepted  his  ad- 
dresses. 

Nor  could  they  wonder  at  the  attentions  he  paid 
those  fair  young  ladies.  Either  of  them  looked  better 
than  he ;  and  Lusia  could  spell  all  the  French  phrases 
in  a  novel,  call  a  dozen  flowers  by  their  Latin  names, 
dance  a  cotillion  after  the  newest  fashion,  quote  Mrs. 
Radcliffe,  and  thrum  two  or  three  tunes  on  her  piano ; 
while  Philly 's  voice  was  musical,  and  she  had  now 
bloomed  into  a  blushing  flower,  that  Arthur  Sumner 
could  but  admire  for  its  luscious  lips  and  full  and 
fascinating  beauty. 

They  rode  in  a  chaise,  with  its  proud  calash 
thrown  down ;  and  they  trained  like  wild  colts,  I 
assure  you.  Ophelia  saw  Arthur  first,  and  whis- 
pered to  the  others  ;  and  while  he  thought  he  heard 
Pitt  say,  "  Tarza  Tyler,  and  calf-skin  shoes,"  Lusia 


BEGIXXIXG     TO    BUILD.  121 

seemed  to  say,  "Poor  thing,  I  pity  him  after  all." 
Then  Ophelia  tossed  back  her  head  and  giggled 
aloud,  and  Pitt  leered  on  Arthur,  and  burst  into  a 
roaring  laugh,  and  away  they  capered. 

The  Sumners  heard  Arthur  had  gone  to  his  trade, 
and  their  house  was  illumined  with  joyous  smiles. . 
It  was  told  them  where  he  would  begin,  and  Mrs. 
Sumner  and  Martha  planned  an  errand  to  Falkland, 
on  purpose  to  see  him  and  give  him  a  glad  word  of 
congratulation.  They  came  along  just  after  the 
others,  and  their  looks  went  home  to  the  coldest 
corner  of  his  heart,  and  warmed  it  to  a  glow  of  joy; 
while  their  words,  like  the  wands  of  enchanters, 
called  up  a  train  of  trooping  hopes,  and  flooded  his 
face  with  tears  of  thankfulness  and  love. 

Martha  never  appeared  a  more  perfect  incarnation 
of  sweetness,  and  he  seemed  to  take  a  blessing  from 
her  fond  and  loving  face.  Martha  tossed  him  a  pair 
of  stockings,  and  a  collar  and  bosom  of  her  own 
work.  Mrs.  Sumner  handed  him  some  warm  flannel 
for  winter,  gave  him  a  new  book  she  had  that  day 
purchased  for  him,  and  they  rode  along,  while  an- 
other mortise  was  beaten  badly,  of  which  Daniel,  in 
his  warmed-up  heart,  could  find  no  word  to  speak. 

Mr.  Summerton  that  day  went  to  Falkland  to 

mill,  and  passing  Mr.  Tyler's,  Sydney  heard  his 

wagon,  and  begged  to  go  with  him  and  "see"  his 

dear  Arthur  he  loved  so  well.     He  was  so  lonely 

he  could  not  wrfTt  till  Arthur  came  home  on  Sun- 

6 


122  BEGINNING    TO     BUILD. 

day,  and  Mr.  Summerton  took  him  along  and  set 
him  down  on  a  timber  with  Arthur,  to  visit  while 
he  was  getting  his  grist. 

Sydney  threw  his  arms  around  Arthur's  neck, 
and  laughed  hke  a  jocund  bobolink,  he  Avas  so  glad 
to  embrace  him  once  more ;  and  after  they  had 
chatted  and  questioned  about  health  and  home, 
Arthur  had  to  describe  to  Sydney,  first  his  work, 
then  the  fields  around  them,  then  the  village,  then 
the  woods  and  waterfall  beyond  the  fields,  then  the 
curtains  of  purple  and  gold  the  autumn  hung 
around  them,  then  the  orchards  that  scented  the  air, 
and  the  pure  opalescent  lustre  of  that  proud  autum- 
nal sky. 

The  descriptions  uncovered  all  the  pictures  of 
nature  that  were  hung  in  the  gallery  of  S^'dney's 
mind,  and  made  him  once  more  forget  that  his 
sweet  eyes  had  perished,  and  he  could  never  see 
this  green  world  again.  Sydney  had  with  him  a 
beautiful  flute  Parson  Dil worth  gave  him,  and  he 
treated  Arthur  to  fine  music  in  return.  The  blest 
enchantment  was  too  soon  broken ;  for  Mr.  Sum- 
merton returned  for  Sydney,  and  he  tore  himself 
reluctantly  from  Arthur,  and  bade  him  good-bye. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  western  wood^, 
and  they  took  in  the  tools,  had  supper,  and  went 
home.  Arthur  was  somewhat  fatigued,  for  new 
muscles  and  nerves  had  been  called  into  play,  and 
his  palms  were  both  blistered  whtre  the  hoe  and 


BEGINNING    TO    BUILD.  123 

shoe-hammer  had  left  no  hardened  place.  He  was 
ashamed  of  his  mistakes,  and  felt  as  if  they  were 
inexcusable.  Yet  he  was  in  excellent  spirits.  He 
seemed  to  have  lived  a  month  in  a  single  day,  and 
going  home  he  breathed  more  free  and  easy.  He 
did  his  chores  with  a  dexterous  hand  and  sat  down 
with  the  family. 

He  never  forgot  that  evening.  He  missed  Mrs. 
Tyler  and  felt  that  something  must  go  wrong  at 
home  to  make  her  sad  while  he  was  absent.  He 
was  very  lonesome  without  blind  Sydney.  He  had 
always  taken  such  care  of  the  poor  boy,  his  heart 
bore  long  claspings  like  a  vine,  and  they  kept 
reaching  for  the  tender  maple  they  had  wound, 
and  were  bereaved  without  him.  He  wanted  to 
hold  Sydney's  hand  as  usual,  and  have  him  lean 
at  his  side  and  hear  him  read  the  new  book  re- 
ceived of  Mrs.  Sumner.  He  wanted  a  tune  from 
his  flute,  and  a  ballad  from  his  tongue.  He  want- 
ed to  lead  him  to  his  bed  ;  a  silent  tear  and  heav- 
ing sigh  told  how  much. 

Yet  that  evening  impressed  him  with  many 
pleasant  memories.  The  yellow  moonlight  slept 
all  night  upon  his  breast ;  the  woods  from  his 
window  looked  like  piles  of  shining  emerald,  and 
the  feeling  and  speaking  breeze  which  seemed 
blowing  from  a  fruit-fragrant  paradise,  wafted  odor, 
music,  and  peace,  to  his  soul,  and  filled  it  with  un- 
dying echoes. 


12dL  BEGIXNING    TO    BUILD. 

He  first  read  in  his  Bible,  and  then  opened  the 
gift  of  Mrs.  Sumner.  It  happened  to  be  an  abridge- 
ment of  old  Vitruvius,  which  had  strayed  away  to 
Sydney,  and  with  a  bounding  heart  he  commenced 
the  history  of  architecture.  He  was  kindled  with 
delight.  The  old  Roman's  half  fabulous  accounts 
of  the  origin  of  building,  and  the  invention  of  the 
classic  orders,  were  finely  adapted  to  an  eager 
mind  and  maiden  imagination,  and  they  carried  him 
away,  and  set  him  wandering  among  the  tombs  of 
Egypt  and  temples  of  Greece  and  Rome,  till  he 
beheld  on  the  virgin's  grave,  the  blooming  acanthus, 
that  suggested  the  Corinthian  capital,  and  saw 
better  reasons  that  night,  than  ten  years  after,  for 
believing  that  the  order,  as  Vitruvius  avers,  was 
arranged  "  to  represent  the  delicacy  of  a  young 
girl,  whose  age  renders  her  figure  more  pleasing, 
and  more  susceptible  of  ornaments  which  may 
enhance  her  natural  beauty." 

He  retired  to  bed  quite  weary,  and  yet  he  could 
not  sleep.  His  mind  returned  from  the  temple- 
lands,  and  led  him  through  all  the  anticipated  steps 
of  his  future  career.  He  learned  to  be  a  capital 
framerj  and,  for  a  while,  was  proud  of  his  success. 
But  that  did  not  long  satisfy  his  ambition,  and  he 
learned  all  the  square  rule,  and  laid  out  buildings 
for  under  workmen  to  frame.  He  became  an 
accomplished  joiner,    in   his   mind,  and   run  fine 


BEGINNING    TO    BUILD,  125 

mouldings,  built  stately  mantels,  and  laid  opulent 
carvings  on  his  work. 

He  glided  over  tlie  earth  and  around  the  sky,  in 
geometric  lines  and  circles.  He  became  a  proud 
architect  at  last,  and  passed  from  the  village  to  the 
city,  and  employed  his  delighted  life  reading  rare 
books,  and  adorning  the  bright  places  of  his  mem- 
ory with  churches  and  palaces  of  his  own  proud 
design.  He  was  dreaming  of  this  career,  and  talk- 
ing of  these  works  in  a  late  found  slumber,  when 
they  shook  him  in  the  morning  and  called  him 
from  his  bed. 


X. 

THE    READING    CIRCLE. 

After  passing  three  or  four  years,  we  find 
Arthur  Sumner  still  with  Daniel  Dale,  and  still  in 
love  with  architecture.  Indeed,  as  we  expected 
his  existence,  we  had  nothing  else  to  anticipate. 
Every  act  of  his  life  in  those  days  had  the  earnest 
longing  of  a  prayer,  for  acquiring  not  only  the  mys- 
teries of  labor  and  art,  but  also  of  books,  and  that 
on  which  books  are  written — this  universal  world. 

With  an  enthusiasm  like  that  of  Jacob  laboring 
to  obtain  Eachel,  he  addressed  himself  gallantly  to 
these  endeavors,  and  had  he,  at  a  dozen  junctures, 
encountered  the  disappointment  Jacob  felt  when 
Laban  gave  him  Leah,  then  compelled  him  to  labor 
seven  years  longer  for  the  blushing  flower  he  would 
set  in  his  bosom,  he  had  been  nothing  daunted  or 
cast  down,  but  turned  to,  and  toiled  another  period 
to  obtain  what  he  desired. 

He  learned  a  great  deal  in  those  busy  years.  He 
could  frame  a  plate  or  a  post  without  a  mistake. 


THE    READING     CIRCLE.  127 

before  a  twelvemonth  passed  ;  and,  for  his  age  and 
experience,  Daniel  declared  he  wanted  no  closer  or 
more  finished  workman  on  a  house.  Now  he  could 
carry  the  whole  frame  in  his  eye  as  Daniel  laid  it 
out ;  and  in  the  absence  of  his  master,  he  could 
catch  up  the  square  and  compass  and  lay  out  work 
for  himself  and  those  who  were  below  him.  They 
finished  another  fine  house  at  Falkland,  and  Arthur 
went  up  with  the  work,  from  the  first  mortise  in  a 
sill  to  the  last  moulding  in  the  chambers ;  it  was  a 
piece  of  work  not  often  to  be  found  in  a  rural  dis- 
trict, and  many  called  and  saw  it  with  admuing 
eyes. 

Arthur  made  some  of  its  finest  panel  doors,  and 
was  given  a  good  parlor  to  himself  to  finish.  It 
was  to  be  done  with  elegant  chair  mouldings,  a 
massive  mantel,  and  elaborate  casings  on  the 
doors  and  windows.  There  was  nothing,  it  is  true, 
very  difiicult  for  tolerable  talent  and  experience  to 
do,  and  yet  it  required  a  clear  head  and  considera- 
ble artistic  skill  to  complete  that  mantel  with  full 
taste,  and  get  on  the  mouldings  in  relief  to  flatter 
an  elegant  eye.  It  was  a  promotion  he  did  not 
quite  so  soon  expect,  to  be  given  the  whole  parlor 
to  finish  in  so  elegant  a  style ;  but  he  accepted  the 
favor  gladly,  and  in  after  years  looked  back  to  the 
time  employed  on  that  fine  room,  as  one  of  the 
pleasantest  seasons  of  his  life. 

God  had  given  them  an  early  May,  in  which  all 


128  THE    EEADING    CIRCLE. 

the  beauties  of  heaven  seemed  to  bloom,  and  all  the 
melodies  of  heaven  to  vibrate,  and  out  upon  that 
May  he  could  look  Avhile  at  work  in  his  parlor ;  and 
with  the  softest  fragrant  pine,  the  keenest  tools  and 
cleanest  hands,  he  could  roll  the  yellow  ribbons 
with  a  rapture,  and  lay  on  his  mouldings  with  a 
feeling  that  forgot  it  was  a  labor.  His  work  was 
accomplished  in  the  specified  time,  and  with  no 
room  in  the  house  was  the  gentlemanly  owner  bet- 
ter pleased. 

At  this  tipie  Arthur  had  not  altered  greatly  in 
his  features,  though  he  stood  up  in  a  more  erect 
and  more  symmetrical  manhood.  His  head  had  an 
ampler  finish,  and  more  light  illumined  his  eye  and 
face.  On  the  whole,  had  you  not  seen  him  from 
the  time  he  left  Tyler's  till  now,  I  think  you  would 
not  have  known  him,  his  finish  was  so  much  cleaner, 
bolder,  and  more  mature.  He  still  felt  some  diffi- 
dence, though  he  managed  well  to  conceal  it,  and 
he  had  a  great  deal  more  confidence  than  when  he 
left  the  rope-walk.  The  trade  and  science  of  archi- 
tecture hfted  his  spirit,  set  a  double  colonnade  of 
strength  and  grandeur  round  the  temple  of  his  soul, 
opened  windows  of  knowledge  on  his  eager  eyes, 
completed  his  self-respect,  and  yarded  in  his  judg- 
ment. 

Hope  fairly  danced  in  his  heart,  and  the  taunts 
and  leers  of  those  who  had  worn  finer  cloth,  and 
felt  more  fortunate  and  exalted,  had  the  effect  to 


THE    BEADING    CIRCLE.  129 

lessen  his  passion  for  praise,  and  give  him  a  more 
manly  indifference  to  the  speeches  of  vain  folks. 

He  now  dressed  well,  but  prudently,  and  so  lib- 
erally had  Daniel  Dale  rewarded  his  faithful  ser- 
vice, he  had  already  paid  a  part  of  his  freedom 
debt,  and  had  enough  left  to  afford  to  wear  clothes 
which  became  him  on  a  week  day,  as  on  a  Sunday; 
and  it  was  more  than  a  year  since  Wellington 
cried  "  Aunt  Tarza  Tyler." 

A  happy  idea  occurred  to  Arthur  one  day,  and 
at  night  he  mentioned  it  to  Jonas  May,  who  was  a 
fellow  apprentice,  and  to  his  intimate  friends  in 
Sydney.  It  was  to  form  a  httle  fraternity,  raise  a 
small  fund  for  a  mutual  hbrary,  and  meet  once  a  week 
in  a  reading  circle.  The  proposition  took  all  their 
minds  at  once  ;  a  few  simple  by-laws  were  adopted, 
and  the  institution  went  into  operation.  They 
called  it  the  Reachng  Circle;  but  their  exercises 
consisted  of  reading  aloud  at  their  meetings,  con-  • 
versation  on  given  subjects,  writing  and  criticism. 

They  pledged  themselves  against  profanity,  ex- 
travagance in  dress,  and  all  intemperance;  and  pro- 
mised to  help  and  encourage  one  another  as  brothers 
indeed.  Volney  still  had  the  occasional  failing 
which  his  pledge  of  temperance  might  not  wholly 
prevent,  but  he  promised  with  all  his  heart,  and 
the  others  declared  they  would  strengthen  his  reso- 
lution. Barney  had  a  great  deal  of  soul  and  un- 
trained common  sense,  but  somehow  he  seemed  to 
6* 


130  THE    READING     CIRCLE. 

love  a  song-book  better  than  a  history,  or  any  other 
intellectual  work,  and  Arthur  feared  he  might  not 
have  a  taste  for  reading  or  composition.  But  Bar- 
ney was  wiUing  to  try  for  the  culture  of  a  taste,  and 
they  were  glad  to  get  him  into  the  circle.  Jonas 
May  had  patience  to  play  checkers  and  fox  and 
geese ;  he  had  read  Alonzo  and  Melissa ;  he  knew 
the  story  of  Charlotte  Temple,  and  kept  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  murder-and-accident  corner  of  the 
Hampden  Gazette ;  from  this  it  was  judged  that  he 
might  soon  have  a  taste  for  the  exercises  of  the  cir- 
cle ;  and  he  made  the  fifth  member. 

Sydney  Tyler,  though  younger  than  the  rest,  and 
blind,  was  already  as  well  informed  as  any  of  the 
boys  except  Arthur,  and  it  was  with  tender  hands 
and  tearful  satisfaction  that  they  led  him  into  the 
circle.  And  you  could  not  have  suppressed  j^our 
joy,  had  you  been  present  when  Sydney  was  told 
of  the  movement,  and  Arthur  assured  him  they 
could  not  do  without  his  presence,  and  had 
agreed  to  take  turns  in  leading  him  to  and  from  the 
meetings.  Sydney's  face  was  a  blaze  of  smiles,  and 
you  could  have  heard  his  heart  as  it  palpitated  all 
his  warm  delight. 

"  Good  !  good !  good !"  he  cried ;  "and  may  I  go, 
father? — may  I  go,  mother?  He  says  they  will 
lead  me  every  night.  But  if  they  cannot  do  this 
always,  Eanger  will  lead  me.  Do  let  me  go !  God 
was  not  unkind  in  letting  my  blindness  come  on 


THE    BEADING    CIRCLE.  131 

me. — 0  no,  lie  was  good;  my  lieart  has  eyes, — I 
see  dearer  sights  Avith  my  mind ; — my  ears  give  me 
sweeter  music;  and  O  what  a  joy  to  know  how 
they  love  poor  Sydney !  They  might  not  love  me 
so  well  if  I  was  not  blind. — Mother,  mother !  wont 
it  be  joy  to  go  to  the  reading  circle  ?  Dear  Arthur, 
how  good  you  are !" 

As  soon  as  his  parents  could  edge  in  a  word  of 
reply  to  Sydney's  ringing  changes  of  delight,  they 
assured  him  he  might  go;  and  his  heart  flowed  a 
stream  of  thanks  and  joys. 

The  by-laws  of  the  association  stipulated  that 
they  should  meet  every  Monday  night,  take  turns 
in  selecting  books,  and  read  aloud ;  produce  com- 
positions and  specimens  of  penmanship,  offer  free 
but  kindly  criticisms  on  each  performance,  and  con- 
tribute two  shillings  extra  to  the  library  fund  for 
each  night's  absence. 

Arthur  had  a  number  of  well-chosen  volumes, 
most  of  them  histories  and  biographies,  with  a  copy 
of  Euclid,  a  work  on  popular  science,  Goldsmith's 
poems,  Irving's  Sketch  Book,  Mackenzie's  Man  of 
Feeling,  and  Cooper's  Pioneers.  George  Sumner 
had  several,  and  he  could  borrow  half  a  dozen  of 
Martha.  Yolney  had  several  lives  of  heroes,  a 
book  of  anecdotes,  the  Arabian  Nights,  Priest's 
Wonders  of  Nature  and  Providence,  the  Inquisition 
at  Goa,  a  fortune  teller  and  letter  writer, 

Barney  had  a  volume  on  shipwrecks,  the  Life  of 


132  THE    READING    CIRCLE. 

Mary  Jemison,  and  the  North  American  Song  Book. 
Sydney  Lad  several,  which  Arthur  had  read  to  him 
till  every  word  seemed  printed  in  letters  of  silver 
on  his  soul.  They  all  offered  to  lend  these  books  to 
the  circle  library  as  long  as  they  were  needed ;  but 
Arthur  suggested  a  selection  from  the  best  of  them, 
and  an  immediate  purchase  of  choice  new  books ; 
and  fifteen  dollars  was  not  a  very  small  sum  to  have 
in  hand  on  commencement,  beside  ten  dollars  that 
Parson  Dilworth  gave,  for  the  purchase  of  books 
which  they  could  take  home  from  each  circle  and 
enjoy. 

Arthur  took  that  sum  to  a  merchant  in  Hamp- 
den, who  was  going  to  New  York,  and  he  attended 
a  book-sale  and  made  a  good  purchase  for  them, 
charging  nothing  for  his  trouble.  The  first  meet- 
ing they  had  after  the  books  were  covered  and  set 
up  in  their  handsome  case,  was  one  of  rare  enjoy- 
ment. Not  a  member  was  absent;  and  no  one 
took  higher  satisfaction  than  Arthur  Sumner;  or 
carried  away  in  his  crowded  heart  more  of  the  book 
that  was  read,  or  the  thoughts  that  were  uttered, 
than  Sydney  Tyler. 

There  was  nothing  selfish,  or  very  exclusive  in 
their  circle.  Each  member  was  allowed  to  invite 
one  young  man  to  a  monthly  circle ;  and  twenty 
more,  by  paying,  could  become  members ;  while  the 
same  number  of  young  women  were  admitted  to 
the  library  and  circle  fi-ee,  and  invited  to  take  part 


THE    READING    CIRCLE,  133 

in  the  exercises.  That  tliey  might  not  wound  his 
manly  pride,  they  agreed  they  would  take  Sydney's 
contributions  and  fines,  as  they  did  the  others, 
but  they  would  put  them  on  interest  as  fast  as  they 
amounted  to  dollar  sums,  and  reserve  the  invest- 
ments for  him  against  a  time  of  need. 

Turning  now  from  the  reading  circle,  we  observe 
that  these  last  three  years  have  wrought  a  few  changes 
in  the  town  of  Sydney.  Jason  Tyler  has  become 
tired  of  the  tailor's  trade,  offended  his  master  by 
impudence,  and  gone  home  to  his  father's,  where 
both  parents  welcome  him ;  though  he  still  con- 
tinues cold  and  unfeeling  toward  his  mother,  and 
incurs  expenses  for  his  father  which  he  fairly  groans 
to  bear.  Yet  it  is  hoped  that  he  may  still  amount 
to  something,  and  the  farm  is  given  him  to  work 
on  shares. 

Sydney  Tyler  struggles  like  a  hero  to  overcome 
the  disabilities  of  his  misfortune,  and  all  are  aston- 
ished to  see  how  well  he  succeeds.  He  is  bereaved 
of  the  sunshine  of  nature,  it  is  true,  and  must 
rely  on  his  memory  for  pictures  of  dear  faces,  and 
of  this  bright  world.  But,  excepting  this,  he 
almost  forgets  the  dark  curtains  that  close  in  the 
temple  of  his  soul.  All  his  other  senses  are  ani- 
mated to  an  unanticipated  power,  and  they  take  the 
place  of  eyes,  and  flock  to  the  assistance  of  his  im- 
prisoned spirit,  as  the  robins  flocked  to  the  babes 
in  the  wood.     He  has  great  mechanical  talent,  and 


134  THE    READING    CIRCLE. 

accomplislies  cunning  work.  But  his  passion  runs 
on  weaving  willows,  and  lie  makes  baskets,  reti- 
cules, cradles  and  wagons,  for  sale.  He  loves  the 
music  of  the  waters,  and  a  shop  is  built  for  him, 
where  he  can  weave  his  willows,  and  hear  the 
waters  roar. 

Bolivar  Golden  remains  with  Dr.  Waxwood.  He 
dresses  in  fashion;  he  keeps  white  hands,  and 
supports  gold  spectacles.  The  Doctor  urges  him 
ahead,  and  speaks  well  of  him ;  and  if  Bolivar 
says  but  little  when  at  a  patient's  pulse,  he  can 
look  all  the  wiser  for  silence,  and  seem  all  absorbed 
in  the  study  of  the  case ;  while  he  understands  so 
many  learned  words,  if  a  patient  has  to  be  bled,  he 
calls  the  treatment,  depletion  ;  and  if  he  orders  red- 
pepper  tea,  for  fear  they  may  call  him  a  vulgar 
botanic  quack,  he  writes  the  prescription,  capsicum. 
In  that  hopeful  progress,  Bolivar  still  pays  deference- 
to  his  mother ;  but  he  treats  his  old  knotty -handed 
father  as  if  fit  only  to  shoe  horses  and  carry  swill 
to  the  pigs ;  and  the  neighbors  notice  it  and  talk  so 
loudly,  Father  Dilworth  has  to  preach  a  sermon 
from  the  text — "Kemember  the  rock  whence  ye 
are  hewn." 

Wellington  has  been  rather  shiftless.  He  im- 
proves in  fine  looks,  and  runs  still  wilder  in  a  rage 
for  fine  clothing,  cigars,  and  hard  riding.  He  has 
treated  travelers  so  insolently,  ho  has  been  dis- 
charged from  the  Hampden  House.      His  father 


THE    READIXG    CIRCLE.  135 

ventured  to  invite  him  home,  with  the  choice  of 
■working  in  the  shop  or  on  the  farm.  He  insisted 
on  going  into  a  restaurant  in  Hampden,  and  his 
mother  cried — "Do  let  him  go;  you  remember 
the  preacher  said  young  men  should  do  as  they 
have  a  mind  to."  He  spent  a  year  in  the  restau- 
rant, feeling  every  inch  of  his  greatness;  while 
Arthur  Sumner  did  not  envy  him  as  when  he  saw 
him  four  years  ago  in  the  tavern-bar ;  and  he  no 
longer  wondered  if  the  time  would  ever  come  when 
his  place  would  be  as  high  as  "Wellington's. 

William  Pitt  was  in  another  law  office,  and  he 
had  pettifogged  three  or  four  cases,  gaining  a  suit 
for  a  band  of  young  bucks  who  assaulted  and 
thrashed  a  landlord  at  Brandyville,  broke  up 
his  chairs  and  tables,  and  turned  his  wife  and 
daughters  out  doors.  Still,  any  common  Justice 
"could  correct  his  mistakes  in  law,  and  though  he 
lacked  neither  impudence  nor  intrigue,  his  coun- 
tenance wanted  persuasion,  and  his  voice  was  lu- 
dicrous for  a  lawyer's.  Zeddy  Wayland,  however, 
was  stepping  near  his  grave,  and  as  Pitt's  expec- 
tations would  soon  be  realized,^  he  found  a  good 
many  friends,  and  indulged  his  wine,  cigars  and 
rides,  and  sowed  his  wild  oats  on  many  a  genial 
fallow. 

The  young  lawyer's  heirship  and  his  very  tasty 
attire  helped  him  to  looks  which  Ophelia  Golden 
fancied  she  could  love,  and  she  began  to  manage 


136  THE    READING    CIRCLE. 

her  cards  to  win  him  for  a  bridegroom.  She  waa 
good  enough  for  him,  though  without  expectations, 
and  her  beaming  beauty  contrasted  strangely  with 
his  unhandsome  mien ;  but  he  refrained  from  any- 
thing more  serious  than  flirtations,  and  attended 
more  assiduously  to  her  friend  Andalusia ;  who, 
if  she  was  less  beautiful,  had  a  wooing  lip  and 
alluring  eye,  and  could  thrum  a  piano,  spell  the 
French  phrases  in  a  novel,  and  repose  on  the 
promise  of  a  dowry, 

Diaduma  Truck  was  still  unmarried,  and  she  had 
many  excellent  parts  in  her  nature.  The  misfortune 
was,  she  had  no  self-esteem,  no  individuality  of 
character;  and  she  could  hardly  help  falling,  or 
rising,  erring,  or  maintaining  truth  in  the  company 
of  those  of  stronger  wills,  who  set  her  gyrating 
around  them.  This  failing  Avas  indicated  several 
years  ago,  when  standing  in  a  group  who  seemed 
to  bear  all  away,  she  called  Arthur  Sumner  a 
paddy  drummer.  For  this,  Diaduma  deserved  our 
pity. 

Betsey  Bronk  was  keen-witted  as  ever,  great- 
hearted, great-handed;  happy  as  the  hens  that 
run  around  the  door  yard;  eas}^  to  laugh,  eas}^  to 
cry,  and  a  real  rushing  worker.  Betsey  deserved  a 
husband,  and  a  good  one,  too,  although  she  was  in 
no  wise  anxious  to  give  herself  away.  Four  years 
had  stolen  away  with  such  a  silent  tread  Arthur 
kept  saying  he  knew  not  where  they  had  gone, 


THE    READING    CIRCLE.  137 

and  it  looked  strange  enougli  to  see  Jane  and 
Celestia  wear  old  ladies'  wide-bordered  caps,  talk 
with  a  tone,  and  send  their  children  to  meeting. 

Martha  Sumner  was  now  seventeen,  and  for  the 
first  time^we  will  try  to  sketch  her  picture.  She 
was  not  tall  or  robust  as  some  might  desire,  yet  her 
size  filled  a  tasty  eye,  and  pleased  sensible  ob- 
servers, who  would  not  have  seen  her  larger  or 
smaller  on  any  account.  Her  hair  wore  the  darkest 
amber  hues,  crinkling  less  than  Arthur's,  and  it 
was  abundant  as  foliage,  and  soft  and  glossy  as  the 
silk  of  the  corn.  Her  eyes  were  chestnut,  and  they 
glowed  with  a  light  that  inspired  one.  Her  cheeks 
blushed  like  pea-blossoms ;  her  nose  was  spiritual ; 
her  lips  were  pure,  with  only  the  ruddiness  of  flesh 
upon  them;  her  chin  was  a  woman's,  and  was 
deeply  dimpled.  Her  forehead  and  neck  were 
curved  in  those  magical  lines  which  nature  alone, 
in  her  highest  moods,  can  trace.  Her  hands  were 
as  handsome  as  Ophelia's,  though  Martha  washed 
dishes,  cooked,  churned,  milked,  spun  and  wove. 
And  the  voice  that  emiched  her! — She  never  took 
a  lesson  in  music  in  all  her  life,  except  in  the 
woods  and  in  the  village  choir,  and  yet  the  sweet 
swamp-robin  trilled  never  more  silvery  quavers,  and 
the  virgin  dove  to  her  mate  cooed  never  a  more 
innocent,  musical,  heart-warm  love. 

Martha,  you  know,  was  as  good  and  pure  as  her 
person  and  voice  could  indicate,  and  though  not  so 


138  THE    READING     CIRCLE, 

gay  fis  Ophelia,  she  was  very  happy.  Her  genial 
and  innocent  heart  made  her  happy.  Her  religion 
made  her  happy,  for  it  fell  like  manna-dew  from 
the  infinite  Father ;  it  beamed  in  all  the  light  and 
beauty  of  nature,  and  called  into  bloom  the  graces 
of  heaven  that  budded  on  her  soul.  She  was 
religion  itself,  and  she  had  no  gloom,  while  every 
sense  seemed  an  inlet  of  celestial  bliss.  She  loved 
outward  nature  and  human  nature,  and  God  ad- 
dressed her  through  their  voices  as  through  the 
blessed  Scriptures. 

She  thought  as  much  of  a  dandelion,  or  daisy,  or 
pond-lily,  as  Ophelia  did  of  a  ribbon,  or  bracelet, 
or  ring.  She  loved  to  pick  cowslips  in  the  Walla- 
wanda  meadows.  She  took  beauty  even  from  the 
velvet  green  of  potatoes  in  June ;  and  a  pea-field 
in  bloom  always  brought  to  her  tongue  the  song  of 
Logan  to  the  cuckoo.  She  thought  birch,  pine  and 
mint,  more  fragrant  than  lilacs,  and  called  clover 
blossoms  sweeter  than  a  rose. 

She  lived  opulently  in  a  lofty  book ;  she  was  in- 
dustrious ;  and  yet  she  lived  all  she  could  in  the 
woods,  and  loved  to  lie  down  in  the  hay-fields,  or 
under  the  oaks  on  the  hill  pasture  overlooking  the 
village,  and  warble  responses  to  the  birds,  and  let 
them  sing  her  at  last  to  sleep.  She  loved  to  feed 
the  fishes  in  the  meadow-brooks.  She  built  nests 
for  robins  and  sparrows  ever}^  spring. 

She  loved  little  chickens  and  lambs.     She  loved 


THE    READING    CIRCLE.  139 

old  people,  and  was  pleasant  society  for  tliem ;  she 
loved  young  people,  and  enjoyed  their  love  in  re- 
turn. She  would  hug  and  kiss  little  children  with 
a  grace ;  she  carried  a  joy,  and  smile,  and  hope 
from  heaven  to  every  sick  chamber  she  entered ; 
and  for  her  parents  and  friends,  her  singing  was  as 
good  as  the  most  inspiring  sermon  in  Father  Dil- 
worth's  church. 


XI. 

FALLING    AND    RISING. 

On  the  tenth  of  the  following  May,  Arthur  com- 
menced work  on  a  house  for  Mr.  Sumner.  Daniel 
Dale  made  him  master  of  the  building  over  an  ap- 
prentice and  one  journeyman  at  first,  and  then  over 
two  journeymen;  while  he  built  a  barn  for  Mr. 
Melvin,  and  worked  on  a  house  at  Falkland. 
Through  most  of  the  month  of  May  they  were 
framing,  and  about  the  first  of  June  Mr.  Sumner's 
house  was  raised.  It  was  a  noble  frame.  It  looked, 
when  erected,  as  if  glue-jointed,  every  fit  was  so 
perfect ;  and  not  a  mistake  was  made  in  the  plan  or 
work.  Arthur  had  acquired  the  square  rule  so 
perfectly  he  saw  the  whole  building  in  his  mind, 
even  to  a  rafter-gain  and  pin-hole,  before  he  laid 
the  first  mortise,  and  the  men  smiled  with  delight 
at  the  raising,  as  each  snug  joint,  and  bent  after  bent 
leapt  together. 

The  building  was  designed  for  comfort*  and  con- 
venience, and  not  for  show.     It  was  a  story  and  a 


FALLING    AND    RISING.  141 

half,  with  a  deep,  cool  cellar,  a  large  kitchen  and 
pantrj,  a  very  large  parlor  and  three  bed-rooms 
below,  and  ample  rooms  in  the  half  story.  There 
was  a  real  merry-making  at  the  raising.  Billy 
Bronk  threw  the  bottle  from  a  stand  on  the  rafter- 
heads,  and  named  the  house  "  the  Queen  of  the 
Fields."  Not  being  broken,  the  bottle  was  filled 
with  metheglin,  and  a  health  was  drunk  to  Mrs, 
Sumner,  as  all  sat  down  to  a  supper  which  she 
served. 

The  only  thing  that  occurred  to  damp  the  plea- 
sures of  the  afternoon,  was  a  misfortune  into  which 
Volney  Summerton  fell.  He  became  more  excited 
than  he  was  aware,  and  went  home  reeling  with 
intoxication.  Arthur  and  George  led  him  home, 
and  staid  all  night  in  his  chamber.  Yolney  woke 
in  the  morning  to  a  transport  of  grief.  He  thought 
of  his  pledge  in  the  Circle,  and  felt  that  he  deserved 
expulsion.  He  thought  of  the  disgrace  and  injury 
he  had  inflicted  on  himself  and  friends.  He  won- 
dered that  Arthur  and  George  could  have  conde- 
scended to  lead  him  home.  He  wondered  to  see 
them  there  in  the  morning  watching  so  kindly  and 
sadly  by  his  bed.  He  sobbed  and  moaned  like  a 
suffering  child.  But  they  knew  he  did  not  mean 
to  become  a  drunkard ;  they  knew  it  was  a  fashion 
to  taste  light  liquor  at  a  raising ;  and  while  they 
were  shocked  by  the  error  into  which  he  had  suf- 
fered himself  to  fall,  they  assured  him  they  felt  a 


142  FALLING    AND    KISING. 

new  interest  on  account  of  the  misfortune,  and  he 
should  see  that  they  were  brothers  to  him,  and 
would  help  him  still.  They  welcomed  him  back 
to  the  Circle,  and  to  all  its  pledges  and  blessings  ; 
and  it  was  a  long  time  before  Volney  tasted  liquor 
again. 

The  house  was  finished  immediately,  and  painted 
white,  and  hung  with  green  blinds.  It  looked  in- 
deed like  a  Queen  presiding  over  the  flourishing 
fields  that  bloomed  around,  and  it  was  a  mansion 
in  which  the  happiest  hearts  reposed,  and  unfolded 
their  thoughts  and  affections,  and  enjoyed  their 
comfort  and  peace. 

But  while  they  were  siding  the  east  end  with 
clapboards,  at  the  very  peak  of  the  gable,  an  acci- 
dent occurred  whicn  spread  a  shadow  of  gloom  over 
three  bright  summer  weeks.  Mr.  Sumner  had  been 
deceived  in  his  nails.  Several  pounds  of  tens, 
which  he  had  purchased  for  enclosing,  proved  to  be 
very  brittle,  and,  through  mistake,  some  of  those 
nails  were  taken  for  the  scaffold  erected  for  siding 
that  gable.  Arthur  stood  on  that  scaffold  alone, 
laying  on  the  last  boards,  and  hurrying  to  finish 
off,  and  take  down  the  scaffold  before  tea.  The 
last  piece  had  one  end  fitted,  and  as  he  stooped  to 
saw  the  last  end,  the  scaffold  fell  and  precipitated 
him  to  the  earth.  He  fell  head  and  shoulders  upon. 
some  bits  of  boards  and  scantling,  and  his  body  on 
the  earth. 


FALLING    AND     RISING.  143 

It  was  a  terrible  fall.  The  breath  was  beaten 
from  his  body.  The  blood  gushed  from  his  mouth 
and  nose,  and  from  a  gash  in  his  head ;  his  right 
arm  was  broken;  he  lay  apparently  lifeless,  and 
was  carried  in  for  dead.  A  shriek  of  anguish 
thrilled  through  the  house,  and  every  one  rushed 
to  his  bed-side.  George  was  dispatched  to  call  Dr. 
Waxwood,  who  was  regarded  a  good  surgeon,  and 
Jonas  May  flew  to  Hampden  for  Dr.  "Waterman. 
Waxwood  was  absent,  and  Waterman  came  first, 
though  not  till  three  anxious  hours  had  crept  away. 
To  the  Sumners,  every  moment  of  that  interval  was 
a  throbbing  pulse  of  agony,  to  which  their  hearts 
beat  time. 

Arthur  lay  bleeding,  and  ghastly,  and  motionless 
as  death.  Dr.  Waterman  opened  a  vein  in  his  arm, 
and  he  revived.  After  an  hour  his  arm  was  set, 
and  it  was  declared  that  his  wounds  were  not  mor- 
tal, and  he  would  probably  live.  Smiles  of  joy 
contended  then  with  tears  of  grief  on  every  face. 
Martha  still  sat  at  his  pillow,  but  the  rose  returned 
tint  after  tint  on  her  cheek,  and  she  ceased  to  sob 
and  wring  her  hands.  Several  of  the  neighbors 
ran  in.  Daniel  Dale  was  there  with  his  wife  before 
they  supposed  he  might  hear  of  the  accident ;  and 
three  of  his  dearest  friends  sat  up  with  Arthur  all 
night. 

Martha  moaned  often  while  awake,  and  screeched 
several  times  in  her  dreams.     Mrs.  Sumner  thought 


144  FALLING    AND    EISING. 

again  and  again  of  his  lonely  orphan  life,  and 
sighed  because  no  mother  could  hold  his  poor  head 
in  her  bosom,  and  bathe  his  throbbing  brows.  Mr. 
Sumner  turned  often  on  his  pillow,  comforting  him- 
self onlj  with  the  hope  of  a  recovery,  and  the  op- 
portunity they  would  have  to  make  their  house 
seem  his  own  dear  home ;  while  Mrs.  Sumner  rose 
three  or  four  times  and  went  into  the  sick  room, 
asking  if  there  was  not  one  single  pain  that  she 
could  soothe. 

Before  sunrise,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyler  were  there, 
glad  indeed  at  first  to  hear  he  was  alive,  but  sad  to 
find  him  so  much  injured.  Mrs.  Tyler  took  his  left 
hand,  smoothed  back  the  hair  on  his  pale  forehead, 
kissed  it,  took  three  or  four  convulsive  rocks  in  her 
chair,  kissed  it  again,  and  wept  aloud  her  grief. 
That  called  back  tears  to  other  eyes,  and  there 
seemed  a  contest  of  tenderness  between  Mrs.  Tyler 
and  Mrs.  Sumner,  to  show  which  would  be  most  of 
a  mother  to  him. 

The  two  doctors  met  there  in  the  morning,  and 
decided  that  he  was  deeply  injured ;  and  with  the 
best  of  care,  if  he  lived,  he  would  be  laid  up  from 
work,  at  least  three  months,  and  it  would  perhaps 
be  too  much  to  expect  a  sound  arm  again.  Arthur 
uttered  a  groan  on  hearing  that,  which  would  have 
pierced  even  William  Pitt's  heart.  Mrs.  Tyler, 
still  weeping,  pressed  his  left  hand  as  if  to  crush 


FALLING     AND     RISING.  145 

it,  and  Martha,  wliile  moaning,  wiped  the  large 
tears  from  his  eyes. 

But  Mr.  Sumner  assured  him  it  should  cost  him 
nothing,  if  he  staid  there  a  year ;  while  Daniel  and 
Sibyl  Dale  declared  Mr.  and  i[rs.  Sumner  should 
not  have  all  that  privilege  to  themselves,  for  they 
would  have  him  home  as  soon  as  he  could  go,  and 
a  free  and  welcome  home  he  should  find ;  w' here- 
upon Mrs.  Tyler  cried,  "  You  have  all  forgotten 
that  I  have  the  best  right  to  him,  and  I  icill  have 
him  home  some  of  the  time."  This  little  contest 
melted  Arthur  even  more  than  the  doctors'  de- 
cision ;  while  its  tender  words,  more  soothing  than 
medicine,  carried  ease  all  over  his  frame. 

Daniel  Dale  left  his  other  job,  and  came  to  finish 
Mr.  Sumner's  house,  and  look  after  Arthur.  A 
week  w^ent  away,  and  he  was  able  to  sit  up  some, 
and  take  more  nourishment.  He  had  not  lacked 
at  all  for  attentions;  rather,  was  he  injured  by 
them,  every  friend  desired  to  do  so  much,  and 
it  was  so  hard  to  refuse  a  friend  the  comfort  of 
saying  a  soothing  word  and  leaving  some  new 
token  of  esteem  and  love. 

Those  tender  attentions  came  so  good  to  him,  he 

wanted  to  weep  his  gratitude  on  every  one's  neck 

that  bestowed  them.     Ophelia  Golden  was  greatly 

affected  by  his  misfortune,  and  she  greatly  affected 

him  by  frequent  visits  and  kind  and  sympathetic 

words,     Martha  Sumner  came  to  his  bed  a  dozen 
7 


146  PHALLI  NG    AND    RISING. 

times  in  a  day,  and  there  was  music  in  her  very 
step,  which  thrilled  him  when  he  could  hear  it 
stealing  along  the  floor.  She  would  see  if  his  pil- 
low was  easy,  or  his  lips  thirsty,  or  his  sleep  undis- 
turbed. She  fanned  him  ;  she  hung  green  bushes 
around  the  room,  and  changed  the  mint  and  flowers 
on  the  stand  at  his  elbow,  every  night  and  morning. 
Sometimes  he  would  rouse  from  a  pleasant  dream 
while  she  bent  over  him,  and  think  he  reposed  in 
heaven,  and  calling  her  a  lovely  spirit,  ask  if  such 
and  such  of  his  friends  came  along  with  her.  Then 
he  would  wake  and  weep  his  thankfulness,  and  she 
would  glide  into  another  room.  ' 

Parson  Dihvorth  called  to  see  him  almost  every 
day,  and  his  visits,  and  sjmipathies,  and  cheering 
words  were  tonics  that  acted  powerfully,  and 
hastened  his  convalescence.  As  the  Parson  passed 
out  of  the  gate  one  morning,  he  met  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Tarbox,  another  clergyman  of  Sydnej^,  who  very 
abruptly  asked  among  his  first  questions,  "  Did  you 
pray  with  him,  Mr.  Dilworth?"  "No,  I  did  not, 
this  morning,"  said  the  Parson.  "  He  has  had  a  poor 
night,  and  needs  rest ;  so  I  left  him  five  dollars, 
hoping  that  might  do  him  as  much  good  as  one  of 
my  prayers,  while  I  can  pray  for  him  going  home, 
you  know."  The  clergyman  stepped  back  and 
blushed  at  this  reply,  and  passed  into  the  house 
and  reversed  the  devotions  of  Parson  Dilworth, 

Arthur's  devotional  feelings  were  kindled,  and 


FALLING    AND    RISING.  147 

he  praised  God  continually  for  giving  him  such 
friends,  and  declared  that  he  never  felt  so  blessed 
a  sense  of  divine  goodness  before.  His  heart  beat 
against  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  he  said  it  was  true 
as  he  had  read,  that  "  it  lightens  the  stroke  to  draw 
near  to  Him  who  holds  the  rod."  As  soon  as  he 
could  bear  it,  Martha  came  in  and  read  to  him. 
She  read  to  him  from  the  Bible,  and  these  words 
lingered  in  the  ear  of  his  soul :  "  Happy  is  the  man 
whom  God  correcteth :  therefore  despise  not  thou 
the  chastening  of  the  Almighty ;  for  he  maketh 
sore  and  bindeth  up  ;  he  woundeth,  and  his  hands 
make  whole."  She  read  Parnell's  "Hermit."  He 
had  never  heard  it  before.  He  loved  the  poetry 
and  sentiment,  and  when  she  came  to  the  words  of 
the  angel,  explaining  the  mysteries  of  evil,  every 
word  was  music ;  every  idea,  light.  Portions  of 
his  own  experience  were  illustrated,  and  that 
heavenly  gate  at  which  his  heart  still  knocked 
seemed  opening  before  his  eyes.  She  read  Thom- 
son's "  Liberty" — that  neglected,  but  beautiful  poem 
of  the  fine  arts.  She  readlrving's  "  Sketch  Book," 
and  the  very  heart  of  the  author  seemed  to  come 
and  beat  in  his  own  breast,  while  his  green  sum- 
mer periods  were  pictures  that  inspired  him  with 
rapture,  and  his  thoughts  became  a  portion  of  his 
own  unfolding  life. 

A  welcome  guest  to  his  chamber  was  Sydney 
Tyler.     The  poor  boy  took  Arthur's  affliction  more 


148  FALLING    AND     RISING. 

keenly  than  if  it  were  his  own,  but  nearly  a  week 
passed  away  before  he  was  permitted  to  go  and 
see  him.  The  convenient  day  came  at  length,  and 
Ranger  led  Sydney  to  Mr.  Sumner's,  and  into 
Arthur's  room;  and  it  was  an  affecting  meeting. 
Ranger  bounded  upon  the  bed,  and  licked  his  face, 
and  whined  his  mingled  grief  and  joy.  Sydney 
sat  for  an  hour  with  his  hand  in  Arthur's,  and 
sometimes  he  wept  his  sympathy,  and  sometimes 
smiled  with  joy,  as  his  mind  vibrated  between  fear 
and  hope  for  his  friend's  recovery. 

*'  You  will  come  and  stay  a  good  while  home 
when  you  get  able — won't  you?"  said  Sydney. 
"  It  seems  so  lonesome  when  you  are  not  there ! 
I  wish  we  could  always  be  together,  I  learn  and 
enjoy  so  much  from  you." 

"  I  will  make  you  a  good  visit ;  and  if  I  live,  and 
ever  get  a  home  of  my  own,  you  shall  not  be  much 
of  the  time  from  me,"  answered  Arthur. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  visit  you  !"  said  Sydney ; 
"  and  what  a  joy  it  would  be  to  see  your  face  once 
more !  I  remember  how  you  all  looked  before  I 
was  blind.  Mother  saj-s  I  will  see  all  my  friends 
in  heaven ;  and  I  feel  so  sad  in  my  darkness  every 
once  in  a  while,  I  long  to  go  to  heaven  and  meet 
you  all  there,  and  take  my  part  of  joy  in  what  my 
eyes  can  see." 

"  I  had  a  dream  about  you  last  night,"  said  Ar- 
thur. 


FALLING    AND    RISING.  149 

"I  hope  it  was  a  good  one,"  answered  Sydney; 
"  as  good  as  I  dream  of  you," 

"  It  was  a  first  rate  one,"  answered  Arthur,  "  I 
dreamed  you  were  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind,  and — " 

"O,  you  do  not  call  that  first  rate;  you  cannot 
talk  so !"  interrupted  Sydney,  with  emotion. 

"  Hear  me  through,  brother,  and  then  judge  my 
dream,"  said  Arthur,  "As  I  was  saying,  it  did 
seem  as  if  you  were  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind ;  that 
your  soul  lived  in  a  sort  of  temple — " 

"You  are  always  dreaming  of  temples!"  inter- 
rupted Sydney, 

"  That  your  soul  lived  in  a  temple,"  resumed 
Arthur,  "  and  your  senses  were  windows,  and  they 
were  all  closely  curtained  1" 

"What  would  I  do  and  feel  if  it  was  so?"  inter- 
rupted Sydney, 

"  But  you  will  spoil  my  dream,  unless  you  hear 
me  through,"  resumed  Arthur.  "The  windows 
were  curtained  with  black,  and  Christ  appeared  to 
your  yearning,  hoping,  loving  soul,  and  began  to 
uncurtain  the  windows  of  her  temple.  He  removed 
the  first  curtain,  and  gave  hearing  to  your  ears ; 
and  0,  what  a  scene  of  joy !  You  thought  sure 
enough  the  music  of  the  skies  was  breaking  on  you, 
and  as  our  poor  voices  spoke,  as  instruments 
sounded,  as  the  wind  swept  by,  and  the  birds  struck 
up  their  songs,  they  sounded  so  much  sweeter  to 
your  hungry  sense  than  you  had  hoped  anything 


150  FALLING    AND    RISING. 

on  earth  could  again  sound  to  you,  you  thought 
the  angels  were  singing,  and  you  had  already  begun 
your  feast  on  all  the  melodies  of  heaven." 

Here  Arthur  paused  a  few  minutes,  overcome 
with  emotion  and  fatigue  himself,  and  Sydney  kept 
wishing  he  could  go  on,  and  saying  he  would  be 
almost  willing  to  be  deaf,  to  taste  of  such  transports 
of  music.  Then  Arthur  recovered  his  voice  and 
continued  :  "I  see  it  all  now,  just  as  if  it  had  been 
reality.  You  were  still  in  this  world,  remember, 
Sydney,  and  he  appeared  again,  and  tuned  a  voice 
in  your  lungs,  and  laid  syllables  of  speech  on  your 
lips,  to  report  all  your  thoughts  and  feelings ;  and 
then  you  imagined  you  were  an  angel  too,  and 
throbbed  and  blushed  with  the  ecstasy,  and  rose 
and  swelled  with  the  pride  with  which  your  own 
eloquent  sounds  seemed  to  lift  and  thrill  your 
being — " 

"  Then  I  did  make  something  at  last  of  my  poor 
voice?  I  would  willingly  be  dumb  for  a  year,  if 
after  that  I  could  speak  like  lawyer  Huntington,  or 
sing  like  Martha  Sumner,"  again  interrupted  Syd- 
ney. "But  what  came  next?  0,  did  you  dream 
that  my  poor  eyes  were  opened  ?  Did  I  see  the 
waterfalls,  and  skies,  and  all  your  sweet  faces  once 
more  ?  Tell  me !  tell  me,  Arthur !  And  did  I  see 
my  noble  Eanger,  too?  If  I  did,  I  shall  hope 
your  dream  may  some  time  come  to  pass. — But  how 
can  I  hope? — I  dream  the  same  every  night,  and 


FALLING    AND     RISING.  151 

vrake  up  iu  the  morning  and  weep  to  find  the  black 
curtains  still  hanging  on  my  windows. — Did  you 
dream  trul}^  that  Christ  came  down  and  gave  me 
sight  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  came  down  again,  I  thought,"  resumed 
Arthur,  "  and  drew  the  last  curtain,  and  let  in  the 
light  on  your  e^'es ;  and  what  words  could  describe 
your  wonder  and  delight  ?  "With  your  first  words 
you  cried,  '  It  is  true !  it  is  true !  there  a?'e  degrees 
in  heaven,  and  this  is  the  highest  you  have  led  me 
to  now !'  " 

"  I  hope  I  had  Ranger  to  lead  me  !  He  has  been 
such  a  friend  on  earth,  I  hope  I  shall  have  him  with 
me  in  heaven,"  interrupted  Sydney. 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  I  saw  Eanger,"  resumed 
Arthur ;  "  but  what  a  day  you  enjoyed,  Sydney ! 
0,  I  wish  I  had  words  to  describe  it !  In  what 
spells  of  rapture  j-ou  hung  on  the  look  of  your 
father  and  mother's  faces.  How  you  drank  down 
the  smiles  of  your  brothers  and  sisters,  and  those 
guardian  hearts  who  have  loved  and  fed  your  soul 
in  Ijer  prison !  And  how  you  glanced  to  the  blush- 
ing flowers,  the  majestic  woods,  the  splendid  skies; 
and  every  sense  seemed  an  eye,  while  the  splendors 
of  art  and  the  glories  of  nature  swept  through 
your  field  of  sight !  But  cheer  up,  Sydney,  if  it 
was  a  dream  it  was  partly  true,  for  you  will  hear, 
and  speak,  and  see  in  heaven." 

"  Yes,  but  heaven  will  not  come  to  blind  Sydney 


152  FALLING    AND     RISING. 

SO  soon,"  replied  the  latter.  "  If  I  could  only  see 
for  a  day,  I  think  I  would  be  satisfied.— It  was 
brighter  than  my  dreams,  and  may  be  it  will  come 
to  pass. — O  what  would  I  not  give  to  see !" 

"  But  do  you  not  remember,  Sydney,"  said  Ar- 
thur, "that  Christ  has  already  done  for  you  more 
than  I  dreamed  ?  Was  not  your  soul  almost  deaf, 
dumb  and  blind,  before  your  e3'e-siglit  failed  ?  Has 
he  not  opened  the  ears  of  your  soul  to  hear  voices 
and  songs  of  delight  and  love,  that  your  outward 
ears  could  not  enjoy  ?  Has  he  not  opened  the  voice 
of  your  soul  to  more  eloquent  notes  and  accents 
than  a  tongue  of  flesh  can  utter?  Has  he  not 
opened  the  eyes  of  your  soul  to  sights  of  joy,  to 
sights  of  love,  and  truth  and  beauty ;  to  sights  of 
God  and  heaven,  that  make  all  your  pictured  memo- 
ries of  earth  look  coarse  and  hazy  ?" 

"  It  often  seems  so,  I  declare,"  answered  Sydney. 
"  It  seems  so  when  I  hear  the  birds  and  smell  the 
flowers.  It  seems  so  at  church,  and  when  you  or 
mother  read  the  Bible.  It  seems  so  when  I  love 
God  and  all  the  world,  and  remember  the  love  that 
has  crowned  me.  But  0,  if  I  could  see  only  for  a 
day  or  two  with  my  ej'cs !" 

The  conversation  at  length  changed  to  another 
subject,  and  after  that,  Sydney  repeated  poetry  he 
had  committed  to  memory  since  he  saw  Arthur  be- 
fore, and  then  gave  him  a  time  or  two  on  his  flute. 
Sydney  staid  two  long  daj^s  with  Arthur,  and  re- 


FALLING    AND     RISING.  153 

turned,  thinking  all  the  way  home  of  the  dream 
Arthur  told  him,  and  saying  it  was  brighter  than 
any  of  his. 

Arthur  recovered  slowly  from  his  injuries,  and 
began  himself  to  read  and  write,  and  attend  the 
Circle.  That  privilege  he  enjoyed  more  than  ever ; 
and  since  he  must  lose  his  time  from  manual  em- 
ployment, he  was  glad  he  could  devote  it  to  moral 
and  mental  interests.  But  attempting  at  first  to 
write,  a  sense  of  his  misfortune  overcame  him.  He 
had  to  use  his  left  hand,  and  commence  again  with 
straight  marks,  and  the  prospect  was,  he  would 
always  have  to  write  left-handed  ;  for  the  physicians 
would  not  promise  that  Ms  right  arm  should  be 
restored.  But  the  strength  and  cunning  which  came 
to  his  left  hand  surprised  him ;  and  before  he  was 
able  to  work  at  the  bench  again,  his  left  hand 
writing  was  fair  and  legible. 

He  was  early  removed  to  Daniel  Dale's ;  he  paid 
the  Tylers  a  fine  visit,  and  at  the  end  of  three 
months,  though  his  arm  was  still  weak  and  un- 
wieldly,  he  went  to  work.  He  was  kindly  favored, 
and  soon  had  his  full  strength  again,  though  his 
left  held  the  ofiice  of  right  hand ;  and  it  was  not  a 
year  before  he  was  entirely  restored,  and  he  had 
two  good  hands  that  vied  with  each  other  for  cun- 
ning and  dexterity. 

On  the  whole,  therefore,  it  was  no  great  misfor- 
tune.    He  had  a  moderate  physician's  bill  to  pay, 
7* 


15-4  FALLING    AND     RISING. 

and  be  had  suifered  greatly ;  but  the  affliction  was 
followed  by  a  flock  of  blessings.  He  had  tasted 
with  new  relish,  the  sweets  and  favors  of  friendship. 
He  had  stored  his  mind  and  heart  with  treasures 
which  money  could  not  balance  or  buy.  His  mind 
and  heart  had  grown  till  they  met  and  became  his 
entire  being.  He  had  studied  out  new  mysteries  of 
his  trade  from  books  taken  from  the  library,  and 
idealized  as  types  of  life  its  noble  forms  and  orders ; 
and  he  had  a  quickened  zeal  to  pursue  it  as  an  art, 
with  a  skill  that  was  ambidexter. 


XII. 

RISING    STILL. 

Through  the  following  winter  Artliur  worked  on 
another  house,  and  the  hours  flew  away  like  swal- 
lows. That  was  a  house  for  Mr.  Summerton.  He 
was  now  quite  forehanded,  and  after  a  year's  prepara- 
tion, he  set  the  carpenters  to  work  in  time  to  enclose 
it  before  winter.  It  was  a  two-story  house,  and  it 
surpassed  every  thing  else  in  that  opulent  region. 
The  style  had  more  of  the  Ionic,  while  Mr.  Sum- 
ner's was  the  simplest  Doric,  so  far  as  the  figures 
of  a  style  or  order  could  be  indicated  in  a  fine 
country  residence. 

Arthur  took  more  pride  in  his  elegant  work,  than 
pleasure  in  his  wages.  He  pursued  his  trade  more 
for  its  own  sake,  because  he  loved  the  beauties  of 
architecture,  than  for  the  money  his  talent  would 
command.  And  when  another  season  came,  there 
was  not  a  workman  for  miles  around  who  pretended 
to  stand  before  him. 

He  served  his  term  of  apprenticeship  with  Daniel 


156  RISING     STILL. 

Dale.  From  the  beginning  he  had  earned  his  mas- 
ter much,  and  received  more  than  common  appren- 
tices' wages.  lie  had  done  some  extra  work,  and, 
by  prudence,  managed  to  support  himself  well,  and 
contribute  liberally  to  the  mutual  library.  Beside 
this,  he  had  paid  all  but  fifty  dollars  due  Mr.  Tyler 
for  his  time,  and  Mr.  Tyler  was  so  affected  by  his 
wife's  continual  entreaties,  and  by  Arthur's  late 
misfortune,  he  gave  up  the  obligation  and  refunded 
the  last  payment.  Arthur  had  noble  looks,  as 
every  body  said,  and  good  clothes,  and  knew  how 
to  take  care  of  them,  keeping  them  new  and  tasty 
after  Wellington  would  have  worn  them  to  rngs. 
He  had  good  friends  and  good  books.  He  had  a 
trade  that  you  would  have  thought  his  sweetheart, 
so  gallantly  he  addressed  himself  to  it ;  and  a  charac- 
ter which  Billy  Bronk  said  he  would  risk,  without 
insurance,  on  the  wildest  wdnter  sea. 

He  acquired  knowledge  with  astonishing  pro- 
gress, and  still  strove  for  more,  with  the  might  of  a 
man  a  mowing.  His  mathematical  taste  and  talent 
engaged  him  in  the  noblest  mental  discipline,  ex- 
panded and  harmonized  his  fliculties,  and  allured 
the  finest  facts  and  ideas  to  live  in  joyful  concord 
in  his  mind.  He  had  a  manly  confidence  and  ad- 
dress now,  and  Ophelia  and  Andalusia  ceased  to 
intimate  that  they  despised  him.  His  associates 
had  prospered  at  their  trades. 

Sydney  Tyler  still  wove  the  willows  into  baskets, 


RISING     STILL.  157 

and  the  air  into  music,  witti  liis  fingers  and  his 
flute.  But*  as  for  the  other  young  men  of  our 
story,  it  could  hardly  be  said  they  were  faring  for- 
ward with  much  hope.  Zeddy  Way  land  had  man- 
aged to  live  along  till  William  Pitt  was  worried 
again  and  again  out  of  patience ;  but  now  the  old 
man  was  shoveled  into  his  grave,  and  Pitt  received 
his  legacy,  which  tried  his  patience  more,  by  falling 
far  short  of  his  expectations,  and  reports.  Welling- 
ton was  in  a  store,  flourishing  all  his  pride,  and 
Jason  remained  at  his  father's. 

Betsey  Bronk  was  married  to  John  Gordon,  just 
the  large-hearted  man  for  her,  and  they  lived  very 
happily  near  Mr.  Sumner's,  on  a  fine  little  farm,  in 
a  fine  little  home,  which  they  owned  without  in- 
cumbrance. Diaduma  Truck  still  had  many  excel- 
lent traits,  but  she  remained  a  maiden ;  and  she 
would  have  kindled  all  over  her  face  into  one  wide 
blaze  of  joy,  had  she  reached  or  expected  the  noble 
hand  of  the  "  Paddy  Drummer." 

William  Pitt  had  purchased  ten  acres,  and  set  it 
out  with  trees,  and  talked  of  building  a  fine  house 
on  it.  He  would  be  obliged  to  build  a  smaller 
house  than  he  calculated,  on  account  of  a  smaller 
legacy  than  he  had  hoped  to  receive ;  still,  he 
said  he  would  build,  and  that  set  the  people  to 
surmising  that  he  intended  marriage  soon,  and  led 
them  to  inquire  who  his  bride  might  be.  It  was 
tolerably  certain  that  Ophelia  or  Andalusia  would 


158  RISING    STILL. 

attain  to  that  liappy  fortune,  but  which  of  the  young 
ladies,  even  Mrs.  Waxwood  could  ndt  positively 
say.  They  both  seemed,  by  many  arts  and  airs,  to 
solicit  his  regards.  lie  dressed  in  perfect  style ;  he 
smoked  the  best  cigars ;  he  swung  the  proudest 
cane ;  he  had  some  property,  and  he  was  a  lawyer. 
This  was  enough  to  win  either  of  the  maidens. 

Andalusia  cared  less  about  his  property,  expect- 
ing, as  she  did,  an  ample  dowry  of  her  own ;  while 
she  desired  the  gentleman  of  fashion,  and  thought 
it  would  complete  her  happiness,  and  secure  her 
place  in  the  highest  caste,  to  be  a  lawyer's  wife. 
Ophelia  thought  something  of  the  property ;  it 
would  enable  them  to  begin  with  dignity,  and  sup- 
port their  position  till  a  lucrative  profession  should 
bring  them  sufficient  wealth.  And  she  thought  of 
the  honor  of  that  profession ;  but  she  was  supposed 
to  think  still  more  of  the  person  of  the  gentleman ; 
for,  plain-looking  as  he  was,  nay,  absolutely  ugly 
compared  with  her  own  brilliant  charms,  she  sin- 
cerely loved  him  for  his  own  sake. 

Ophelia  and  Lusia  were  no  longer  friends.  Their 
rival  flirtations  relaxed  their  attachments,  and  their 
separation  was  completed  by  Ophelia  intercepting 
a  card  of  invitation,  addressed  by  the  lawyer  to 
Lusia,  and  returning  a  rejection  over  Lusia's  name, 
in  expectation  of  a  duplicate  card  for  herself  The 
stratagem  succeeded ;  but  it  was  soon  discovered, 
and  separated  the  girls  for  a  time  ;  yet  many  thought 


RISING     STILL.  169 

stratagems  honorable  in  love,  and  William  Pitt 
continued  so  impartial  in  all  his  attentions  and 
declarations  to  the  twain,  Ophelia  herself  was  con- 
founded, and  resorted  to  the  cunningest  arts  to  dis- 
coti'er  his  actual  choice. 

Arthur  Sumner  had  twice  done  fine  work  in 
Hampden,  finding  no  workman  of  more  artistic 
talent  than  he ;  and  now  he  took  a  contract  there  on 
his  own  engagement.  It  was  a  mansion,  and  to  be 
done  in  the  richest  style  of  the  town  ;  it  was  known 
that  he  held  noble  ideals  of  architecture  in  his  head, 
and  would  work  upon  honor,  and  the  job  was  given 
him  on  liberal  terms.  He  took  an  apprentice,  and 
engaged  two  good  journeymen.  They  framed  the 
first  sill  on  the  first  day  of  May,  and  remained  till 
the  mansion  was  ready  for  the  masons.  The  house 
went  up  on  a  fashionable  corner,  and  attracted  much 
notice.  Arthur  had  a  great  many  visitors  while 
engaged  on  the  interior,  and  all  went  away  admir- 
ing the  intelligent  builder,  and  delighted  with  his 
beautiful  work. 

"Wellington  Golden  often  heard  Arthur  praised, 
and  he  knew  that  Arthur  no  longer  looked  up  to 
him  on  any  account.  Wellington,  by  the  way,  had 
been  discharged  from  the  store  for  foppery  and  in- 
solence, and  gone  to  peddling.  He  had  the  best 
opportunities  to  learn  how  Arthur  was  rising,  and 
was  frequently  home  to  repeat  what  he  heard.  He 
still  detested  a  trade ;  yet  he  could  not  but  en\-y 


160  RISING    STILL. 

GUI'  Master  Builder  for  the  popularity  he  was  gain- 
ing with  a  class  of  people  who  looked  far  down  on 
the  Golden  family.  He  could  not  but  speak  of  that 
popularity  often  to  his  mother  and  sister. 

Mrs.  Golden  remembered  the  low  origin  of  the 
young  man,  and  the  low  rank  in  which  she  supposed 
a  mechanic  was  held  by  the  genteel  classes ;  and 
she  expressed  her  surprise  and  mortification,  and 
declared  that  Wellington  should  not  be  outdone, 
but  should  go  into  a  store  on  the  first  opportu- 
nity, and  be  a  merchant,  as  she  determined.  Ophe- 
lia soon  showed  that  she  thought  difierently  now 
of  Arthur  Sumner.  She  had  sincerely  admired  his 
fine  looks  and  manners  since  he  became  a  man,  and 
she  often  expressed  regret  for  the  contempt  in  which 
she  was  taught  to  regard  him.  She  was  still  proud 
and  fashionable  as  ever;  but  her  sense  appeared 
to  improve,  and  her  character  was  by  no  means 
wanting  in  virtuous  and  amiable  traits. 

Arthur  was  convinced  that  Ojohelia  would  have 
been  another  being  entirely,  with  a  different  mother 
and  a  true  education.  He  knew  she  had  been 
schooled  in  false  views  of  life.  But  his  elegant  eye 
was  flattered  by  her  beauty,  and  he  was  glad  to 
mark  every  sign  of  an  improving  mind  and  person, 
caring  not  a  fig,  at  this  late  day,  for  the  manner  in 
which  she  used  to  serve  him.  He  remembered  her 
kind  attentions  at  his  sick  bed,  and  the  thought 
came  back  like  a  flash  of  sunshine  and  a  burst  of 


RISING    STILL.  161 

music  on  liis  sensitive  soul.  He  was  frequently 
out  in  the  neigbborliood,  and  as  she  had  rejected 
the  addresses  of  the  lawyer,  and  showed  more  than 
one  sincere  regard  for  him,  he  found  it  hard,  from 
the  first  approach,  to  resist  her  potent  enchantment. 
Who  could  resist  those  tempting  eyes,  and  all  those 
captivating  charms?  A  conquest  should  not  have 
been  surprising ;  and  yet  there  were  many  who  saw 
them  more  than  once  together,  with  perfect  aston- 
ishment. 

They  supposed  he  detested  the  Goldens.  They 
had  selected  Martha  Sumner  for  his  bride.  Mrs. 
Tyler,  Mrs.  Summerton,  and  Mrs.  Bronk  had  again 
and  again  declared  that  Heaven  made  him  and 
Martha  for  each  other,  and  they  were  both  grieved 
and  surprised  at  these  new  attentions  he  appeared 
to  be  paying  Ophelia.  It  was  the  subject  of  con- 
versation at  their  afternoon  parties.  They  trembled 
for  his  future  happiness,  while  they  despaired  of 
finding  another  whom  they  would  be  willing  their 
favorite  young  maiden  should  marry.  They  could 
not  make  up  their  minds  to  such  a  disappointment 
of  their  long-settled  expectation.  Mrs.  Tyler  wept 
when  she  thought  of  it,  for  she  felt  that  her  niece 
was  not  calculated  to  make  such  a  young  man 
happy. 

Mrs.  Golden  wept,  for  she  had  fixed  her  heart  on 
William  Pitt  Popinjay,  Esq.,  the  lawyer,  for  her 
son-in-law.     Uncle  Natty  Golden  was  garrulous  in 


162  RISING     STILL. 

his  joy,  for  he  detested  the  lawyer  as  heartily  as  he 
dared  to,  and  was  fond  of  Arthur,  declaring  to 
Barney  Bronk,  after  looking  around  to  see  that  no 
one  was  nigh  to  hear,  that  "  he  had  not  a  son  in  the 
round  world  who  treated  -him  so  well  as  Arthur, 
or  whose  leastest  word  made  his  old  heart  jump  up 
with  such  sweet-feeling  joy." 

Wellington  looked  large  and  bitter  when  they 
mentioned  the  affair  to  him,  and  averred  that  Ar- 
thur should  never  marry  Ophelia.  Bolivar  liked 
the  lawyer  best,  and  he  had  a  flame  on  the  side  of 
Andalusia,  which  was  in  danger  of  being  quenched 
by  his  sister's  late  conduct ;  and  as  he  prayed  for 
Lusia's  hand,  and  her  father's  practice  and  fortune, 
he  hoped  Ophelia  would  repent,  and  marry  Mr. 
Popinjay. 

There  was  excitement  enough  for  all  the  town 
scandal ;  and  even  at  church,  before  and  after  ser- 
vice, you  might  have  seen  groups  around  the  house, 
talking  the  matter  over.  They  watched  Martha 
very  narrowly,  to  discover  how  she  bore  it.  They 
could  detect  no  material  change  in  her  looks.  She 
was  the  same  sweet  and  placid  being ;  admiring  to 
range  the  woods  and  sleep  in  the  clover-fields ;  hav- 
ing a  song  of  joy  and  a  look  of  love  for  all  that 
came  her  way.  The  pea-blow  still  painted  her 
cheek,  the  sunshine  still  flowed  in  lovely  light  from 
her  eyes,  and  her  voice  remained  blissful  in  spirit 


RISING    STILL.  163 

as  it  was  silvery  in  tone,  lifting  all  hearts  to  God, 
on  wings  of  grateful  melody. 

Could  Arthur  abandon  Martha  Sumner?  This 
was  the  ultimate  question.  Had  they  ever  ex- 
changed a  word  about  marriage?  Assuredly  not. 
Had  tlicy  ever  thought  of  uniting  their  destinies  ? 
This  was  difficult  for  others  positively  to  know. 
They  had  taken  that  blissful  idea  for  granted,  it 
might  be,  without  authority  or  reason.  Positively, 
Arthur  knew  not  Martha's  mind  on  the  subject. 
He  had  loved  her ;  he  loved  her  still  as  warmly  as 
it  seemed  possible ;  but  some  how  it  appeared  to 
him  like  a  brother's  love  for  an  adored  sister ;  while 
he  could  not  conceive  why  Martha  would  leave 
such  a  blessed  home  as  she  had,  for  another ;  or  why 
she  could  marry  the  best  man  on  earth,  without  the 
risk  of  parting  with  more  bliss  than  she  could  hope 
to  add  to  that  summer  fountain,  which  already  filled 
to  the  brim,  and  was  flowing  over  her  soul.  Was 
marriage  indispensable  to  high  and  happy  life? 
Had  she  not  loved  him,  had  he  not  loved  her  for  a 
unity  of  spirit,  and  a  present  enjoyment  of  mutual 
tastes,  and  thoughts,  and  loves,  without  an  idea  of 
wedlock?  Could  they  not  love  as  brother  and 
sister  still,  nor  contract  a  more  intimate  alliance? 

If  they  could  continue  in  such  a  relation,  what 
honorable  consideration  should  hinder  a  friendship 
for  Ophelia  ?  Nay,  a  lover's  passion  and  proposal, 
since  he  delighted  to  gaze  on  beauty,  if  he  and  she 


164  RISING    STILL. 

could  be  happier  in  a  state  which  Martha  might 
never  for  more  happiness  choose?  Weeks  and 
months  went  away,  and  Arthur  visited  Ophelia,  and 
she  encouraged  his  attentions. 

Some  people  censured  him,  without  positively 
knowing  with  what  judgment  they  judged.  He  con- 
tinued also  to  visit  at  Mr.  Sumner's,  and  Ophelia  ap- 
peared to  feel  hurt  by  those  visits ;  while  others  won- 
dered why  he  could  be  any  longer  welcome  there. 
Betsey  Bronk  Gordon  had  a  bouncing  boy-baby, 
blessed  with  four  white  teeth  when  four  months  old, 
good-natured  as  a  hand-fed  calf,  whooping  and  crow- 
ing wonders;  and  she  had  named  him  all  for  x\rthur ; 
and  she  declared  at  length,  "  as  true  as  slie  lived 
and  breathed,  she  would  change  his  name,  if  he 
flung  himself  away  on  pretty  Miss  Opheely."  This 
expressed  the  minds  of  many  of  his  friends.  They 
had  taken  so  much  interest  in  him  since  he  was  a 
child,  they  felt  that  they  had  a  large  right  in  him 
now,  and  it  should  be  for  them  to  say  something 
of  an  affair  which  would  decide  his  happiness  for 
life.  He  honored  them  all  the  while  for  that  affec- 
tionate interest,  how  much  soever  his  thoughts 
migrht  have  crossed  their  dearest  wishes. 

Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood  had  all  along  rejoiced,  for 
she  desired  the  lawyer  in  her  family,  and  he  seemed 
to  redouble  his  addresses  to  her  daughter  after 
Arthur  and  Ophelia  became  such  intimate  friends. 
She  made  a  party,  and  invited  Andalusia's  friends, 


RISING    STILL.  165 

with  George  and  Martha  Sumner.  None  of  the 
Goldcns  were  there  of  course,  except  BoHvar,  and 
he  OAved  his  invitation  to  his  situation  in  the  doc- 
tor's office.  Two  or  three  couples  attended  from 
Hampden ;  and  it  was  evident  to  all,  that  things 
wei'e  managed  to  promote  the  hope  Andalusia  had 
for  William  Popinjay. 

The  lawyer  was  there,  and,  unless  mistaken  about 
himself,  he  was  regarded  by  all  as  the  very  lion  of 
the  evening.  He  spoke  to  every  lady  in  the  room, 
and  said  "  the  moon  would  full  before  it  waned,  and 
unless  the  wind  blowed  all  night,  and  the  cold  sub- 
sided, the  frost  would  kill  the  coiiJ-cumbers."  He 
unbottled  a  good  deal  of  explosive  wit,  and  pro- 
pounded five  conundrums. 

He  asked  why  Martin  Luther  was  like  a  wood- 
pecker ?  and  when  all  gave  it  up,  he  answered, — 
"  Because  he  went  to  the  Diet  of  Worms." 

He  asked  why  a  lawyer  was  like  a  razor  ? 

One  answered,  "Because  he  shaves." 

Another  answered,  "  Because  he  is  keen." 

Another,  "  Because  the  more  you  employ  one, 
the  oftener  you  have  to  be  shaved." 

But  he  replied,  "No,  none  of  you  have  it.  A 
lawyer  is  like  a  razor,  because  he  gets  dull  without 
a  case." 

"  What  flower  am  I  ?"  he  then  inquired. 

"Catch-fly!"  said  one. 

"  Coxcomb !"  said  another. 


166  RISING    STILL. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  am  a  law-vender  (laven- 
der)." 

"No,  indeed  you  are  not,"  said  Martha  Sumner, 
"you  are  a  dandy -lion!"  and  the  shout  that  arose 
assured  her  she  was  right. 

He  asked  the  servant  for  a  second  glass  of  wine, 
and  called  her  Sukey  Betsey,  making  many  laugh. 
Then  becoming  serious,  he  declared  that  ^^  Sic 
transit  gloria  mundV^  was  a  Latin  quotation;  and, 
going  to  the  window  with  Lucy  Melvin,  and  look- 
ing at  Orion  and  the  Pleiades,  he  said  some  of  those 
very  stars  were  sixty  thousand  miles  from  the  earth, 
astounding  as  she  might  regard  his  statement. 

They  had  music  and  dancing,  and  supper  and 
wine.  There  were  groups  who  engaged  in  gossip ; 
and  Mrs.  Waxwood  was  comforted  with  the  decision 
that  her  daughter  would  get  the  lawyer  and  make 
her  bliss  secure. 

A  few  days  after  Andalusia's  party,  Ophelia 
begged  to  have  a  party  given  for  herself  and  Arthur 
Sumner.  Her  father  was  willing,  and  desired  to 
give  a  good  one,  but  her  mother  silenced  her  on 
the  first  entreaty.  While  affairs  proceeded  in  this 
way,  Arthur  was  still  rising  to  success  and  popu- 
larity in  his  trade,  and  every  act  in  business  and 
life  he  performed  as  a  deed  of  honor.  He  attended 
the  Circle  regularly  as  he  could,  and  the  library  and 
exercises  now  were  concerns  of  great  interest  to  all 
who  enjoyed  them.     They  had  many  rich  volumes, 


RISING    STILL.  167 

and  all  tlie  young  men  were  improved  beyond 
expectation.  Barney  Bronk's  old  song  book  had 
long  lain  upon  the  shelf,  buried  in  black  coal  dust ; 
while  he  could  relish  Hume  and  Robertson,  write  a 
fair  hand  and  decent  sentence,  and  was  hungry  for 
fresh  tastes  of  the  bread  and  meat  of  knowledge. 

Yolney  Summerton  had  broken  the  pledge  but 
seldom ;  and  if  he  loved  to  read  of  warriors,  he 
enjoyed  many  books  of  Arthur's  taste.  Jonas  May 
had  new  tastes  entirely.  George  Sumner  devoured 
as  many  books  as  he  could  digest,  keeping  well  up 
with  Martha,  while  they  both  thought  they  must 
read  Beattie's  Minstrel,  the  Pioneers,  and  Sketch 
Book,  as  often  as  once  a  year ;  and  read  many 
chapters  in  the  fields,  in  the  pine  woods,  and  on  the 
hay-mow. 

Sydney  Tyler  enjoyed  such  magical  perceptions, 
he  had  transferred  almost  every  page  of  the  library 
to  his  mind,  in  kaleidoscopic  pictures,  and  he  could 
repeat  Parnell's  Hermit,  Milton's  L'  Allegro,  Son- 
net on  Blindness,  and  other  poems,  word  for  word, 
while  the  chivalry  of  Ivanhoe  waved  its  flashing 
banners,  and  rode  on  dappled  stallions  on  the 
field  of  his  fimcy ;  and  he  could  answer  any  ques- 
tion in  history  or  geography,  and  imbibe  more  of 
nature  with  his  ears,  than  many  with  their  eyes. 

Arthur  had  long  since  laid  Buck  on  the  shelf, 
and  Hervey's  Meditations  were  forgotten,  while 
Good's   Book  of  Nature  gave  him  interest.     He 


168  RISING    STILL. 

liad  a  passion  for  history  which  few  of  his  age  en- 
joy ;  he  ascended  the  heights  of  mathematics  from 
circle  to  circle,  and  sphere  to  sphere ;  he  had  on  his 
catalogue,  Hosking's  eloquent  Treatises  on  Architec- 
ture and  Building,  which  had  just  come  over  the 
Avater ;  and  Avhile  he  traced  the  progress  of  the  arts 
in  Thomson's  Liberty,  and  followed  the  course 
of  civilization  by  the  architecture  of  nations,  he 
was  opening  broad  windows,  fluting  proud  columns, 
grooving  grand  and  lofty  arches,  and  laying  fine 
traceries  and  rare  enrichments  on  the  temple  of  life. 

And  how  did  Arthur,  by  this  time,  feel  about  his 
home  and  kindred?  For  a  month  and  more,  he 
had  felt  deeply  and  strangely  on  this  subject.  He 
was  very  desolate  when  he  remembered  how  much 
alone,  after  all,  he  walked  in  the  world.  He  saw 
others  blessed  with  fathers  and  mothers,  and  he 
knew  of  none  he  could  call  his  own.  Mrs.  Tyler 
had  treated  him  fondly ;  but  she  was  not  his  mother. 
Mrs.  Sumner  had  bathed  his  brow  in  sickness ;  so 
had  Mrs.  Dale;  and  he  was  thankful  beyond  the 
power  of  words  to  tell.  He  loved  them  for  it ;  but 
from  no  hand  issued  the  rapture  of  endearment  he 
fancied  must  follow  a  mother's  touch.  He  had 
built  happy  homes  for  others ;  and  was  there  no 
home,  no  father,  or  mother's  house  for  him  ? 

Those  good  women  had  grieved  for  each  little  sick- 
ness which  distressed  him  ;  and  if  such  were  the  feel- 
ings of  strangers,  what  must  be  his  mother's  anguish 


RISING     STILL.  169 

still,  if  she  lived,  wliile  longing  to  unveil  the  mys- 
tery wbicti  concealed  the  fate  of  her  lost  boy  ? 
That  floating;  imap-e  of  a  mother,  still  hovered 
with  a  smile  of  indescribable  sweetness  before  his 
mind,  and  he  had  hours  of  bitter  sadness;  and 
dreams  that  were  dreary,  and  dreams  of  delight. 
If  he  must  live  and  die,  without  knowing  he  had 
parents  and  a  home,  what  might  console  him  for 
the  lasting  bereavement?  Nothing  entirely  on 
earth.  Next  to  the  burden  of  a  crime,  that  was  the 
hardest  of  all  sorrows  to  bear.  O,  who  with- 
out a  sigh  and  a  shudder  of  grief,  can  even  repeat 
the  lament  of  Logan,  "  There  runs  not  a  drop  of 
my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any  living  creature"  ? 
What  sweeter  assui^ance  of  the  goodness  of  Grod 
may  be  given  than  this  of  the  Psalmist:  "He 
setteth  the  solitary  in  families"  ? 

But  what  might  best  console  Arthur  Sumner  ? 
A  home  built  by  his  own  hands  ?  And  what  were 
home  without  the  society  of  hearts  dear,  at  least,  as 
parents  ?  William  Popinjay  spent  many  recreating 
hours  setting  lilacs  and  roses  on  his  grounds,  and 
trimming  his  thrifty  firs  and  maples.  William  had 
taken  several  good  fees  in  boards  and  shingles,  was 
encouraged  by  his  business  to  think  of  a  superb 
mansion,  and  asked  even  Arthur  for  a  design ;  and 
why  should  not  Arthur  purchase  a  lot,  adorn  it  with 
trees,  build  a  house,  and  solicit  a  lady  to  preside 

8 


170  RISING     STILL. 

there,  and  gladden  bis  heart  with  attentions  more 
tender  than  a  parent's  ? 

He  purchased  five  acres  on  a  very  lovely  site.  It 
was  a  remnant  of  an  old  estate,  which  he  purchased 
low  at  auction.  An  old  log  house  stood  where  he 
designed  to  build  his  new  one.  A  large  and  rapid 
brook  enriched  the  southern  border,  within  the 
boundary  line,  and  turned  a  white  cascade  about 
midway  of  his  grounds,  while  a  cold  spring  of  soft 
and  delightful  water,  sent  an  ever-running  rill  across 
the  northwest  corner.  And,  standing  in  the  door 
of  the  old  house,  he  could  hear  the  thrushes  sing 
in  the  woods  waving  east  of  Sydney,  and  gaze  on 
plaided  stripes  of  fair  hill-pasture.  On  the  north  he 
saw  the  milk-white  homes  and  churches  of  the 
village.  On  the  south  Avere  sloping  wheat-fields, 
and  level  meadows  tufted  with  ash  and  walnut,  oak 
and  chestnut  trees ;  and  on  the  west,  he  enjoyed 
content,  with  varied  pictures  of  rural  bliss,  as 
he  viewed  the  splendid  lake,  and  saw  the  sun  go 
down  behind  the  crreen  old  woods. 

There  was  already  matured  an  abundance  of 
choice  fruits ;  and  a  pair  of  royal  elms  rose,  as  he 
desired,  in  front,  with  trunks  as  stately,  and  tops 
turned  gracefully  as  Corinthian  columns.  There 
were  chestnuts  and  maples  in  the  wealthiest  bloom, 
and  every  thing  but  the  building  and  fence,  in  the 
finest  order.     He  was  pleased  with  his  purchase, 


RISING     STILL.  171 

and,  as  fast  as  convenience  would  allow,  he  resolved 
to  build  his  home. 

And  now  if  Martha  Sumner  might  err,  in  fan- 
cying a  sweeter  bliss  than  that  which  feasted  her 
heart  in  the  white  Queen  of  the  Fields,  was  he  not 
situated  so  differently  that  it  would  be  as  great 
an  error  for  him  to  prefer  a  single  life?  Was 
there  not  one  who  would  be  made  more  happy  to 
become  his  bride,  and  would  it  not  redouble  his 
own  joys  to  confer  that  happiness  on  a  genial  mate? 
Why  then  delay  marriage  a  great  while  longer  ? 
He  would  not  delay  it,  if  fortune  favored  his  loves. 

The  purchase  of  his  house  confirmed  his  decision, 
contracted  his  time,  and  renewed  the  scandal  of 
the  neighborhood.  The  day  arrived  when  one 
thing  must  be  known,  and  that  was  whether  he 
would  marry  Ophelia  Golden.  A  crisis  followed, 
and  with  it  a  development.  Ophelia  sincerely  ad- 
mired Arthui-'s  appearance,  now  he  was  a  man,  and 
would  have  been  pleased  to  number  him  among 
her  nearest  friends,  since  he  was  welcome  as  sun- 
light to  the  highest  circles  in  Hampden.  And 
there  was  great  sincerity  in  her  visits  to  his  sick 
chamber,  for  her  heart  was  warmed  with  many  fine 
and  noble  feelings  now.  But  the  romance  of  all 
her  late  flirtations  was  a  stratagem  to  bring  the 
lawyer  to  a  proposal.  She  was  once  sui'e  he 
loved  her,  but  his  late  attentions  to  Andalusia 
threw  a  doubt  on  the  affair,  and  she  trusted  in  this 


172  RISING     STILL. 

•well-managed  artifice  to  extort  the  actual  secret 
from  bis  heart. 

And  did  she  deceive  the  Master  Builder  ?  No ; 
he  took  all  her  smiles  quite  coolly,  seeing  nothing 
more  partial  than  friendship  in  their  light,  and 
without  a  thought  of  any  thing  further,  he  was 
happy  to  return  the  addresses  of  a  friend,  still 
affected  with  sweet  emotions  as  he  remembered  her 
welcome  visits  after  his  fall.  He  visited  her ;  he 
walked  with  her  as  any  friend  would  walk ;  and 
she  understood  him  well,  and  honored  the  manly 
sentiments  which  prompted  all  his  calls ;  though  she 
was  willing  that  William  Popinjay  and  others 
should  believe  them  more  frequent  and  passionate 
than  they  were ;  and  his  friends,  in  their  alarm,  re- 
ported them  all  with  large  exaggerations. 

The  lawyer  was  worried  to  a  decision  and 
declaration.  In  fact  he  had  decided  long  ago; 
but  he  wished  to  try  Ophelia,  and  flirt  with  Anda- 
lusia till  she  was  ready  to  give  him  her  eyes,  or  die 
in  love  for  him.  He  loved  Ophelia,  declared  his 
passion,  and  they  were  married. 

Her  false  education  had  corrupted  a  heart  that 
might  have  beat  to  the  holiest  sentiments  of  woman- 
hood ;  yet  she  was  too  good,  at  that  hour,  for  him 
who  made  her  his  bride  ;  and  Arthur  Sumner 
breathed  a  benediction  on  the  union'.  That  wed- 
ding day  was  a  jubilee  to  most  of  the  Golden  family. 
Mrs.  Golden  could  not  express  her  joy.     Welling- 


RISING     STILL.  173 

ton  saw  one,  and  Bolivar  two  round  reasons  to  re- 
joice. 

But  her  father  was  sad-hearted.  He  loved  his 
daughter;  for,  with  all  her  pride,  she  loved  him, 
cheered  him  with  tender  words  and  looks,  lightened 
the  burden  of  his  heart,  attended  him  in  sickness, 
and  smoothed  the  rugged  pathway  of  his  life.  He 
loved  Ophelia,  and  his  brown  cheek  whitened  with 
grief,  when  he  heard  that  she  and  William  Pitt 
were  to  be  married.  He  induced  her  to  abandon 
some  of  the  follies  that  were  forced  on  her  child- 
hood; but  her  heart  was  so  weak-sided  she  was 
easily  swayed  from  many  a  womanly  purpose ;  and 
he  grieved  more  than  all  with  the  fear  that  the  fel- 
low he  detested,  when  she  became  his  wife,  would 
complete  the  ruin  of  her  injured  nature. 

The  old  man  looked  really  well  on  the  wedding- 
day,  for  his  hair  had  been  cut;  the  coal-dust  was 
washed  from  his  kindly  face ;  he  wore  a  clean 
bosom  and  high,  starched  collar  that  seldom  stiffened 
his  motions  or  sawed  his  ears ;  he  had  on  all  his 
best  clothes,  and  his  black-balled  boots  declared, 
with  a  squeak  at  every  step,  that  they  were  both 
of  them  brand-new.  But  he  said  more  than  once 
that  it  seemed  like  a  funeral,  and  his  heart  was  too 
faint,  and  his  eyes  too  full,  to  see  Ophelia  married. 
He  leaned  on  the  garden  fence  during  the  ceremony, 
with  those  hard  hands  wiping  tears,  and  spent  all 
the  long  afternoon  walking  alone  in  the  woods. ' 


174  RISING    STILL. 

The  "Waxwoods,  too,  were  overwhelmed  with 
bitterness  and  wo,  and  it  was  whispered,  with 
ominous  looks,  that  Andalusia  talked  of  lauda- 
num and  lake-baths;  while  Bolivar  hoped  she 
might  at  length  overcome  the  heavy  stroke,  and 
console  her  sad  heart  with  the  love  of  another. 
Arthur's  friends  were  in  joy  again,  and  were  talk- 
ing of  Martha  Sumner  for  his  wife ;  and  Betsey 
Bronk  Gordon,  though  sorely  tried,  and  often 
prepared  for  the  act,  did  not  happen  to  change  the 
name  of  her  bouncing  boy -baby. 


XIII. 

THE    P'EAST    OF    MAY. 

The  people  of  Sydney  were  fond  of  feasts  and 
pastimes,  and  they  tasted  months  of  anticipated 
pleasure,  while  talking  of  one  feast,  the  Feast  of 
May.  They  held  this  feast  to  commemorate  the 
settlement  of  the  town,  and  its  annual  return  was 
always  welcome;  its  joys  were  hoarded  in  their 
hearts  as  so  many  treasured  God-sends,  and  its  pas- 
times painted  on  all  their  lives  as  so  many  pleasant 
pictures. 

It  came  on  the  last  of  the  month,  and  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake,  and  June  seemed  to  come  with 
May  this  season,  the  spring  had  been  so  tardy,  and 
conspire,  with  all  her  pomp  and  melody,  to  crown 
its  joys  again.  The  people  were  never  in  a  more 
genial  mood  to  accept  these  vernal  honors,  and  never 
enjoyed  with  a  finer  zest  the  happy  feast  of  May. 

The  party,  in  former  years,  had  usually  been 
limited  to  fifteen  or  twenty  families,  with  a  few  in- 
vited guests,  but  this  year  the  families  amounted  to 


176  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

more  than  thirty,  and  a  large  number  of  guests  be- 
side were  present  to  share  the  rural  bliss.  Great 
preparations  were  made  to  have  a  pleasant  feast, 
and  they  were  not  made  in  vain.  As  it  was  a  pic- 
nic, each  family  furnished  a  table,  and  there  was 
much  emulation,  seeing  who  should  perform  the 
handsomest  part. 

Mrs.  Sumner  was  always  declared  to  have  fur- 
nished the  longest  table,  the  richest  bread,  and 
finest  chicken-pie.  Mrs.  Melvin  excelled  in  biscuit 
and  dried  raspberry  sauce.  Mrs.  Summerton  laid 
the  whit-est  cloths,  and,  say  what  they  would  about 
Muscovado,  or  white  Havana,  or  crushed,  or  loaf 
sugar,  she  would  have  her  own  maple  sugar,  to  re- 
mind her  of  old  times ;  and  it  was  clear  as  crystal, 
and,  after  it  was  gone,  there  was  always  a  call  for 
more.  Mrs.  Dilworth  was  not  permitted  to  be  a 
woman  among  others,  because  she  was  the  minister's 
wife,  and  she  attended  in  the  new  dress  and  bonnet 
they  had  given  her,  and  partook  of  the  feast  with- 
out furnishing  her  share.  Mrs.  Deacon  Maxy  fur- 
nished a  small  hive  of  honey,  made  from  the  earliest 
flowers.  Mrs.  Tyler  furnished  refreshments  for  her 
family,  two  extra  plates  for  strangers,  and  two  rolls 
of  rosy  butter,  embossed  with  lilies,  for  the  general 
table. 

Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood  had  carried  the  palm  for  the 
finest  pound-cake ;  and  she  had  only  to  regret,  in 
these  latter  years,  that  the  company  could  not  be 


THE    FEAST    OF    MAY.  -177 

more  confined  to  the  select  classes,  while  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner contended  that  selection  Avould  spoil  the  feast. 

Poor  Airs.  Bronk  was  always  welcomed,  and 
helped  to  make  a  good  appearance,  though  far  less 
able  than  the  others  to  do  "her  part.  She  had  taste 
and  skill,  and,  whenever  she  had  the  materials,  she 
could  make  a  melting  pie,  and  a  light  and  luscious 
cake,  as  the  daintiest  tongue  might  relish.  Mrs. 
Sumner  often  helped  her  to  flour  and  fruit,  but  Mrs. 
Bronk  lived  nearest  Mrs.  Dr.  AVaxwood,  and  was 
seldom  refused  the  use  of  her  oven,  after  she  had 
baked.  Mrs.  Bronk  had  been  promised  the  use  of 
the  oven  this  year,  and  she  prepared  for  a  fine 
pound-cake.  But  whether  that  lady  feared  losing 
her  palm,  or  whether  belated  herself,  she  kept  this 
good  woman  waiting  two  long  hours  afi;er  her  cake 
was  ready  for  the  oven  ;  and,  while  obliged  to  stir 
it  all  that  time  to  preserve  the  faintest  hope  of  luck, 
she  trembled  in  fear  that  her  cake  would  be  heavy, 
and  she  would  incur  a  laugh.  But  fortune  plays 
freaks  in  the  oven  as  elsewhere,  and  though  Mrs. 
^"a-xwood's  cake  was  richly  compounded,  and  its 
milk-white  frosting  glittered  in  the  sun,  at  the 
feast,  it  was  hardly  out  of  the  oven  before  it  fell 
like  lead,  and  no  one  enjoyed  it ;  while  Mrs. 
Bronk's  two  long  hours  of  desperate  tossing  and 
spooning  was  the  saving  of  hers ;  and  all  praised  it, 
and  she  took  the  palm  from  Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood. 

The  tables  were  set  in  one  long  line,  on  the  shore 
8* 


178'  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

of  the  lake ;  tlie  company  came  early,  and  they  had 
a  glorious  time.  The  sky  looked  like  burnished 
silver  ;  the  air  was  sweet  and  cool ;  the  w^oods  were 
all  in  foliage  and  jubilant  with  song  ;  the  first  bobo- 
links were  challenging  the  blue  birds  on  the  mea- 
dows, and  shaming  the  robins  from  the  orchards  ; 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake  was  garmented  with 
waving  wheat  and  rye,  and  buttoned  with  blooming 
apple  trees ;  while  the  lake  set  the  sun  a  laughing, 
so  magnetic  were  her  smiles,  and  the  day  broke  out 
all  over  into  blossoms  of  infinite  beauty  and  infinite 
delight. 

The  Sumners  of  course  were  there  with  Martha, 
and  their  souls  were  in  the  feast.  The  Summertons 
and  Gordons  were  all  there,  and  the  Goldens  and 
Tylers;  and  so  was  Arthur  Sumner,  and  many  I 
need  not  name.  Flocks  of  cherub  children  sported 
and  sung  all  day,  and  flocks  of  charming  birds 
whistled  and  sung  in  the  buttonwoods  on  the  beach, 
and  ansAvered  tlieir  jocund  songs. 

The  company  were  well  attired,  and  presented  a 
comely  sight.  Mrs.  Sumner  and  Martha  were  both 
dressed  in  white,  without  any  foreign  ornaments 
adorning  their  fine  looks,  and  Martha  made  more 
than  one  think  of  naiads  on  that  shore,  Billy 
Bronk  wore  a  well-brushed,  bell-crowned  hat,  and 
the  same  old  bell-buttoned  vest  he  had  worn,  occa- 
sionally, for  years,  and  went  without  his  coat.  Mrs. 
Bronk  was  dressed  in  a  very  becoming  calico,  and 


THE    FEAST    OF    MAT.  179 

her  presence  was  enjoyed ;  though  Mrs.  Dr.  Wax- 
wood  criticised  the  width  and  crimping  of  her  cap 
border,  laughed  to  hear  the  squeak  of  her  new 
calf-skin  shoes,  and  talked  of  Samson  and  the 
gates  of  Graza,  as  Aunt  Eunice  assisted  Mrs.  Sum- 
ner to  bring  in  her  baskets  of  bread,  and  chicken  pies. 

S}' dney  Tyler  was  there,  with  spotted  Ranger  in 
his  leash,  and  all  remarked  his  fine  appearance. 
He  was  very  neatly  attired,  and  wore  a  handsome 
straw  hat  of  his  own  manufacture,  a  cherry-spotted 
neckcloth,  and  a  fah*  and  smiling  face. 

Arthur  Sumner  made  a  very  noble  appearance ; 
and  he  carried  May  in  his  heart,  and  abounded  in 
great  joy.  Wellington  Golden  had  all  his  imposing 
honors  on,  and  Bolivar  and  William  Pitt  were  well 
attired,  Mrs.  Tyler  was  neatness  incarnate.  Mrs. 
Waxwood  and  her  daughter  were  the  most  showily 
dressed  of  all,  having  nearly  all  the  bracelets  and 
rings  on  the  ground,  and  displaying  the  richest 
long-shawls  and  the  widest  flounces. 

The  tables  were  spread  twice  during  the  day,  and 
all  enjoyed  the  sumptuous  meals.  And  they  had 
other  enjoyments.  There  was  boating  on  the  lake ; 
there  was  trouting  on  the  inlets  ;  there  was  swing- 
ing between  the  buttonwoods ;  there  were  games 
and  dances  on  the  green.  There  were  two  or  three 
groups  of  readers  under  the  oaks  in  the  rear  of  the 
tables,  and  groups  of  singers  and  stor3--telIers  were 
seated  here  and  there. 


180  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

Lawyer  Popinjay  made  a  speech,  and  his  voice 
twittered  less  laughably  than  usual,  and  displaying 
a  little  wit,  and  considerable  humor,  he  pleased  the 
people  well.  Squire  Melvin  made  a  speech,  and 
though  he  was  much  embarrassed,  and  said  Gentle- 
men of  the  jury,  instead  of  Neighbors  and  friends, 
as  he  meant  to  say,  he  got  off  some  good  sense,  and 
made  them  all  feel  happy  that  they  came. 

Parson  Dilworth  was  in  summer  sj^irits,  and  he 
addressed  the  compau3\  He  alluded  to  the  bright 
sky,  the  grassy  fields,  and  splendid  lake.  He 
touched  on  the  history  of  Sydney,  and  the  progress 
of  the  people.  He  related  incidents  of  his  own 
life.  He  denounced  the  disposition  of  some  to  bur- 
row, like  the  beasts,  and  insisted  on  more  education, 
and  still  more  cordial  and  neighborly  lives.  "  It  is 
a  thing  of  mighty  moment,"  said  he,  in  conclusion, 
"to  be  hopeful  and  happy  even  in  the  present 
world.  To  fulfil  our  destiny,  is  to  be  good  and 
happy.  And  it  is  not  sufficient  to  be  happy  at  our 
feasts,  and  in  seasons  of  holiday  joy ;  we  should 
feast  every  day  on  those  joys  that  flow  from  good 
and  social  life.  "VYe  should  rejoice  in  one  another's 
good.  We  should  be  comforted  while  afflicted,  and 
sustained  when  tried,  by  the  thought  that  we  are 
bound  with  other  fraternal  hearts  in  society  where 
all  are  equal,  and  all  are  one. 

"  We  should  be  like  the  manna-gatherers  in  the 
wilderness.     Of  them  the  Scripture  saith — '  He  that 


THE    FEAST    OF    MAY.  181 

gathered  much  had  nothing  over,  and  he  that  gath- 
ered Httlc  had  no  lack.'  In  respect  to  knowledge, 
love  and  joy  in  particular,  we  should  be  manna- 
gatherers.  Indeed  we  cannot  monopolize  any  of 
the  gifts  of  God,  and  hold  a  lasting  blessing.  We 
may  monopolize  temporal  gifts  for  a  season,  and 
think  we  have  more  than  others,  but  the  very  spirit 
which  would  monopolize  even  temporal  gifts,  pre- 
vents one  receiving  and  adopting  in  his  heart  the 
satisfaction  a  benevolent  man  would  take  from  a 
quarter  of  that  abundance. 

"And  knowledge,  especially,  is  above  monopoly. 
You  cannot  hoard  it  as  you  would  gold ;  if  you  at- 
tempt to  keep  more  than  your  share  unused,  while 
others  are  in  need,  like  the  hoarded  manna,  it  taints^ 
the  worms  of  corruption  devour  it,  and  you  remain 
unblest.  Gather  more  than  your  omer  if  you  can, 
and  make  the  most  of  that  you  use ;  but  remember 
you  hold  God's  bounty  in  all  you  have  over,  and 
he  commands  you  to  divide  it  with  others  who 
stand  in  need. 

"  In  this  you  become  his  almoner ;  in  this  you 
become  his  angel  of  beneficence,  and  enjoy  the  bliss 
of  diffusing  his  grace  among  men.  In  this  the 
blessings  of  the  church  are  made  equal.  In  this 
the  blessings  of  heaven  arc  shared  to  all ;  for,  while 
some  have  gathered  more,  they  will  take  more  of 
their  heaven  in  giving  truth  to  others,  while  others 


182  THE     FEAST    OF    MAT. 

•will  take  more  of  heaven,  receiving  truth  jfrom 
them. 

"And  thus,  like  the  sun  and  stars  that  roll  and 
rejoice  in  bonds  of  affiliation,  which  bind  the  greatest 
to  the  least,  and  live  in  the  light  that  each  has  over 
and  sends  abroad  for  others  to  enjoy,  men  and  an- 
gels will  shine  forth  in  their  Father's  kingdom,  hav- 
ing the  more  light  at  home  for  the  more  they  shed 
abroad. 

"  And  so  it  is  with  love.  Love  is  one  of  the  few 
gifts  that  increase  our  own  measure  as  we  supply 
our  neighbor's  needs.  The  more  we  give  of  love, 
the  more  we  have  in  our  measure  to  enjoy  and  give. 
It  repeats  the  miracle  of  the  loaves,  for  the  more 
guests  you  invite  to  share  its  bread,  the  more  it  will 
increase  to  feed  them,  the  more  richly  all  will  be 
supplied,  and  the  more  will  be  taken  in  fragments 
from  the  table. 

"And  as  with  other  blessings,  so  with  jo3^  He 
that  gathers  most  of  moral  joy  is  no  happier  than 
he  that  gathers  least,  if  he  attempts  to  confine  it  in 
his  heart  and  keep  it  from  his  brethren.  Joy  cannot 
be  confined ;  joy  cannot  lie  unexercised  and  unused. 
It  will  die,  if  it  does,  like  stagnant  air  and  water.  It 
must  have  the  air  and  light ;  it  must  run  abroad  like 
little  rills  of  water ;  the  sunshine  must  bless  it,  the 
grass,  the  flowers,  and  trees  must  drink  its  cool  re- 
freshment ;  then  it  will  be  sweet  and  clear,  and  con- 
tribute all  the  more  to  those  pure  exhalations  that 


THE     FEAST    OF    MAY.  183 

rise  to  heaven  and  fell  in  copious  showers  to  fill  its 
fountains  again. 

"  In  our  feasts  of  May,  let  us  be  like  the  manna- 
gatherers  ;  and  let  these  feasts  be  the  type  of  our 
social  joy  and  union  through  the  year,  and  we  shall 
carry  large  blessings  from  them.  Such  is  our  na- 
ture, we  lift  one  another  in  these  social  loves  to  a 
higher  moral  atmosphere,  and  the  very  air  of  the 
town  is  lighted  and  warmed  by  our  mutual  smiles 
and  sympathies." 

Dr.  Bolivar  Golden  made  a  speech  that  sent  them 
all,  at  night,  to  their  dictionaries.  Then  there  was 
a  call  for  a  hymn,  and  the  lake  and  the  sweet  fields 
beyond,  suggested  AVatts'  Canaan — 

"There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight," 

and  a  choir  of  beautiful  girls,  all  dressed  in  white, 
made  a  shining  circle  on  the  grass,  and,  facing  the 
water  and  the  landscape  beyond,  sung  that  hymn ; 
and  while  it  seemed  a  thousand  birds  of  every  song 
and  wing  flocked  into  the  buttonwoods  and  warbled 
the  chorus,  ^[artha  Sumner's  voice  rose  above  her 
companions,  and  above  the  birds,  in  long-drawn 
quavers,  and  soared  up  to  heaven,  floated  over  the 
lake,  echoed  back  from  the  distant  rye-fields  and 
orchards,  and  ran  around  the  hills. 

The  feast  was  enjoyed  by  every  guest.  A  few 
girls,  it  is  true,  envied  Lusia  Waxwood  her  finery, 
and  seemed  abashed  by  her  glance  and  touch.     A 


184  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

few  of  the  boys  wished  they  were  clerks  or  students, 
that  their  hands  might  be  softer  and  whiter,  and 
they  might  wear  such  tasty  clothes  as  the  Golden 
boys,  and  a  few  young  men  from  Hampden ;  but,  as 
a  general  thing,  all  were  quite  well  satisfied, 

Martha  Sumner  was  much  admired,  and  there 
were  several  young  men  who  wished  to  walk  with 
her ;  but  Arthur  enjoyed  her  decided  preference, 
and  they  were  together  nearly  all  the  day.  They 
took  a  small  skiff  and  went  out  on  the  lake  alone ; 
and  while  Arthur  rowed  and  fished  by  turns,  Mar- 
tha read  to  him  of  Ellen  Douglas  and  Malcolm 
Graeme,  from  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake."  They  studied 
and  admired  the  scenery  on  the  opposite  shore. 
They  found  four  queenly  wind-flowers,  whose  large 
■white  petals  the  last  windy  day  had  opened  and 
blown.  They  plucked  yellow  pansies  in  the  field. 
They  gathered  fly-honeysuckles  from  the  borders 
of  the  meadow-brook.  They  made  one  bouquet 
of  wild-columbine,  which  hung  with  its  nectaries 
from  the  cleft  of  a  rock.  They  tasted  the  sassafras- 
blossoms,  and  admired  the  strawberry  blows.  They 
walked  long  in  the  woods,  in  hopes  they  might  find 
at  least  one  cluster  of  early  laurel  blooms.  Martha 
saw  the  beautiful  where  Arthur  saw  the  sublime ; 
and  she  was  reading  the  language  of  flowers  while 
he  was  reading  the  language  of  forms,  and  passing 
from  the  honeysuckles  and  vines  to  the  traceries  and 
enrichments  of  architecture;   from   a  flower  to  a 


THE    FEAST    OF    MAY.  185 

Corinthian  capital;  from  the  bending  limbs  to 
Gothic  arches,  and  from  the  domes  of  the  old  hills 
and  the  concave  of  the  sky,  to  the  domes  of  temples 
and  the  concaves  of  their  vaulted  ceilings,   - 

They  listened  to  the  thrushes,  and  heard  the  mated 
wood-pigeons  coo.  Their  hearts  interlaced  like  the 
limbs  of  the  elms.  They  made  fresh  assurances 
of  very  tender  love,  and  hoped  they  might  enjoy 
many  days  as  happy  as  the  present.  They  took 
special  care  of  Sydney  Tyler,  led  him  out  with 
them  on  several  walks;  and,  by  some  wonderful 
instinct,  he  tasted  the  beauty  of  the  day,  and  en- 
joyed the  varieties  of  scenery,  while  his  heart  re- 
turned warm  responses  for  all  he  heard  and  felt. 
The}^  sought  out  all  the  bashful  children,  led  them 
up  to  the  table,  and  made  them  feel  at  home.  They 
talked  with  the  aged,  to  have  them  forget  their 
years;  they  gave  introductions,  and  linked  new 
chains  of  friendship  between  congenial  hearts. 
They  were  the  subject  of  conversation  in  more  than 
one  group. 

The  day  appeared  likely  to  pass  without  accident, 
or  any  cloud  of  grief,  when,  as  the  cool  of  the  even- 
ing refreshed  the  air,  Jonas  May  and  a  daughter  of 
Squire  Melvin,  took  Sydney  Tyler  into  a  boat  to 
have  another  pleasant  sail  on  the  lake.  Sj'dney 
dimpled  with  joy  at  the  idea,  but  was  touched  with 
impatience  to  find  that  Eanger  too  insisted  on  going 
that  time  ;  and  though  they  fastened  his  leash  to  a 


186  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

buttonwood,  he  leaped  and  broke  it  near  the  tree, 
and  bounded  into  the  boat  just  as  they  shoved  it 
from  the  shore. 

Sydney's  impatience  broke  out  in  a  passion,  and 
he  cuffed  and  reproached  the  faithful  spaniel,  and 
ordered  him  out  again.  But  Laura  Melvin  cried : 
"  Do  let  him  go  with  us,  Sydney,  he  has  not  had 
a  sail  to-day,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  his  com- 
pany." 

"  Yes,  let  Eanger  go,"  said  Jonas,  "  he  fears  you 
may  have  trouble  without  him,  and  he  will  reward 
you,  I  dare  say." 

Sydney  blushed  with  shame  for  his  unkindness, 
consented  to  let  him  go,  and  caressed  him  with 
soothing  words  and  a  tender  hand.  They  hoisted 
the  sails,  and  the  boat  skimmed  and  dipped  upon 
the  water  like  a  swallow  on  its  way.  They  crossed 
the  lake,  gathered  some  flowers  and  shells,  and  re- 
turned ;  but  when  arrived  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  shore,  where  the  water  was  still  deep,  a  sud- 
■  den  gust  swept  by  and  capsized  the  boat. 

Jonas  May  was  something  of  a  swimmer,  and, 
while  he  could  not  assist  the  others,  he  succeeded, 
by  a  desperate  struggle,  to  keep  on  the  water  till 
he  stepped  and  fell  exhausted  on  the  shore. — ■ 
Sydney  had  learned  to  swim  a  little,  but  in  confu- 
sion and  blindness  now,  all  self-possession  left  him, 
and  he  strangled  and  whooped  in  the  water,  and 
sunk  a  moment  from  sight.     Laura  held  to  the  side 


THE    FEAST    OF    MAT.  187 

of  the  boat  till  Sydney  rose  again,  and  then  she 
dropped  and  grasped  his  arm,  and  they  both  sunk 
out  of  sight.  A  few  young  people  were  left  on  the 
shore,  but  they  were  bound  in  such  a  trance  of  ter- 
ror, no  one  thought  of  leaping  to  the  rescue,  and 
groans  and  whooping  screams,  like  those  uttered  in 
nightmare,  were  all  the  exertions  they  were  able  to 
make.  Sydney  came  up  the  last  time,  screeched 
his  anguish  and  threw  up  his  pleading  arms,  while 
Laura  had  changed  her  hold  and  clung  to  one  of 
his  feet.  At  that  instant.  Ranger  caught  the  end 
of  his  rope  in  his  teeth,  and  swum  and  thrust  it  into 
Sydney's  hand ;  he  grasped  it,  and  the  dog  gave  a 
yelp  that  plainly  said  "hold  on,"  and  darted  like  a 
sturgeon  for  the  beach.  Sydney  and  Laura  main- 
tained their  holds,  and  before  they  reached  the 
water's  edge,  half  a  dozen  strong  hands  had  clasped 
them,  and  they  were  saved  from  death. 

Both  Sydney  and  Laura  were  so  exhausted  they 
fainted  as  soon  as  they  were  safe ;  and  were  not 
restored  until  after  they  reached  the  blind  boy's 
home. 

The  faintness  that  fell  on  each  affrighted  heart 
may  be  well  imagined ;  and  even  Ranger  seemed 
affected  with  the  same  human  feeling;  but  they 
were  all  so  rejoiced  to  think  their  fiiends  were 
rescued,  there  was  no  more  gloom  that  night  than 
if  the  casualty  had  not  happened.  Ranger  kept  yelp- 
ing his  joy,  as  he  leaped  and  lay  down  on  his  mas- 


188  THE    FEAST    OF    MAY. 

ter's  bed  ;  and  he  took  many  praises  from  all.  Syd- 
ney and  Laura  recovered  in  a  day  or  two ;  but  it 
was  long  before  the  blind  boy  could  forgive  himself 
his  nnkindness  to  Ranger  when  he  went  on  that 
sail,  while  the  liveliest  gratitude  grew  with  his 
years,  and  he  remembered  Jonas  May's  prophesy, 
and  expected  to  love  noble  Ranger  still  when  he 
passed  to  the  better  world. 


XIV. 

THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

But  how  shall  we  account  for  Martha  Sumner's 
acceptance  of  the  hand  of  our  hero  at  the  Feast 
of  May  ?  "Was  she  well  assured  that  he  intended 
no  more  than  honorable  friendship  for  Miss  Golden  ? 
Certainly,  she  was  well  assured.  She  knew  all  the 
while  that  the  alarm  was  raised  on  a  few  friendly 
walks  and  visits. 

And  had  Arthur  and  she  actually  pledged  affi- 
ance? No,  they  had  not.  To  the  day  of  the 
feast,  Arthur  had  failed  to  conceive  what  might  in- 
duce her  to  leave  that  happy  home,  and  launch  upon 
a  life  so  perilous  as  wedlock.  He  saw  not  how  her 
happiness  could  be  enhanced  by  marriage.  He 
thought  she  loved  him  with  no  more  than  sisterly 
regard. 

But  in  their  last  tender  interview,  as  they  floated 
on  the  lake,  when  Martha  closed  her  book  and  both 
hearts  were  expressed,  he  saw  he  had  misjudged 
her  ideas  of  womanly  life,  and  called  her  sentiment 


190  THE     FIXAL    AFFIANCE. 

by  too  cold  a  name.  She  had  lofty  ideas  of  -wed- 
lock ;  it  shed  on  her  view  the  lights  of  mated  suns, 
and  reflected  from  each  heart  all  the  tints  of  the 
other  in  one  white  lily  flame ;  and  he  was  the  orb 
that  could  fill  with  her  these  two  full-colored  spec- 
tra. Her  love  was  more  than  a  sister's.  She  de- 
scribed it  as  well  as  she  was  able ;  by  that  his  own 
was  interpreted ;  he  thought  it  must  be  more  than 
a  brother's,  and  as  they  stepped  upon  the  shore  and 
loitered  in  the  shade  of  a-  group  of  young  poplars, 
that  stood  whispering  the  beauties  of  the  day  and 
scene,  their  vows  of  affiance  were  spoken. 

Yes,  their  vows  were  spoken,  and  the  poplars 
repeated  them  in  musical  whispers,  which  the  birds 
caught  and  carried  on  the  gentle  air  away  ;  and  be- 
fore they  joined  the  company,  it  seemed  that  spirits 
had  taken  the  bans  from  the  birds,  and  the  ans-els 
published  them  in  heaven.  Martha  Sumner  could 
be  attracted  from  her  home.  Martha  Sumner 
could  find  a  larger  and  sweeter  happiness  if  Arthur 
would  take  her  for  his  wife ;  and  since  he  could 
call  her  his  own,  new  joys  flocked  like  robins 
around  his  heart,  on  which  the  smiles  of  friends, 
nay,  the  very  flowers,  trees,  and  winds  gave  him 
congratulations. 

Now  he  prayed  that  fortune  might  smile,  for  he 
wished  to  lead  her  to  a  home  not  inferior  to  her 
father's ;  yet,  if  fortune  frowned,  would  not  Martha 
still  be  his,  and  change  the  frowns  to  smiles  ?     Now 


THE     FIXAL    AFFIANCE.  191 

lie  prayed  that  the  -world  might  favor  him  on  her 
account ;  yet  if  the  world  turned  against  him,  would 
not  she  hold  his  head  on  the  bosom  of  a  world 
enlightened  with  love,  peopled  by  clasping  graces 
and  opening  all  around  on  heaven?  Kow  he 
prayed  that  his  own  mother  might  search  him  out, 
and  his  father  and  father's  house  be  shown  him,  for 
he  wanted  to  tell  them  who  had  loved  him,  and  who 
was  the  treasure  of  his  soul ;  while  Martha  might 
wipe  away  their  tears.  0,  what  would  he  not  give 
to  find  his  own  father  and  mother,  that  they  might 
treasure  another  sweet  bliss, .partaking  all  his  joy! 
Yet,  while  this  prayer  and  longing  were  vain, 
would  she  not  meet  him  every  night  at  the  gate  of 
a  dearer  home,  take  his  hand  in  hers,  and  lead  him 
in  where  she  presided  in  love  and  bliss  more  exalted 
than  father  or  mother  could  give  ? 

They  were  to  be  married ;  but  the  wedding  day 
was  set  a  good  while  ahead,  and  when  it  should 
come,  he  hoped  to  have  built  his  house,  improved 
the  appearance  of  his  gi'ounds,  and  gotten  enough 
above-board  to  lay  in  at  least  the  first  six  months' 
living.  Martha  went  with  him  to  his  little  estate, 
and  walked  away,  saying,  she  knew  she  would  love 
every  thing  about  it,  and  if  it  was  not  perfecth^  conve- 
nient to  build  a  new  house  as  soon  as  they  might  wish, 
she  would  go  into  the  old  log  house,  if  it  did  lean  over, 
and  had  only  two  little  windows  to  let  in  the  light  of 
such  scenery  as  bloomed  around  the  spot,  desiring  a 


192  THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

home  no  happier ;  while  Arthur  felt  more  and  more 
that  his  love  for  her  was  higher  and  dearer  than  a 
brother's. 

He  made  another  contract  in  Hampden.  He  was 
given  a  fine  church  to  build,  on  liberal  terms,  and 
commenced  with  several  workmen ;  while  he  seemed 
to  work  in  a  new  world,  thinking  so  often  of  his 
affiance,  and  the  jojs  that  w^ere  before  him.  Yet 
his  mind  was  on  his  work,  and  carried  all  its  plans, 
and  the  building  itself,  in  its  quick  and  ample  eye. 

A  lovely  situation  was  selected  for  the  church, 
and  a  building  went  up,  on  which,  from  basement 
to  steeple,  the  tastiest  eye  could  discover  nothing 
that  crossed,  or  did  not  fill  flush  its  sense  of  sym- 
metry and  beauty.  The  society  Avas  wealth}-,  and 
selected  a  style  of  considerable  richness,  and  bade 
him  indulge  his  own  taste  in  every  good  piece  of 
woiii  which  his  judgment  would  dictate. 

He  reviewed  Hosking  and  Yitruvius  ;  he  traced 
new  and  noble  suggestions  and  models  in  Lafever ; 
retouched  his  talent,  and  finished  oif  a  building 
much  superior  to  any  thing  else  in  the  country. 
The  pulpit  was  higher  than  those  now  in  fashion, 
but  its  very  height  enhanced  its  superb  beauty,  and 
gave  it  a  becoming  venerableness  that  stood  as  a 
type  of  religion,  in  contrast  with  which  our  modern 
pulpits  look  coquettish  and  worldly,  and  more  suit- 
able for  rostrums  or  stages. 

The  gallery  hung  on  three  sides,  and  displayed 


THE    FINAL    ATFIANCE,  193 

the  hand  that  directed  its  construction.  In  short, 
every  column  and  cornice,  every  piece  of  carving, 
every  design  and  touch,  the  whole  interior  was  in 
excellent  taste,  and  in  highest  harmony  with  all 
suggestions  of  the  place,  and  cheerful  as  it  was 
stately,  rich,  and  venerable. 

lie  left  the  house  to  the  masons  one  week  after 
they  expected  to  take  it,  and  so  pleased  were  the 
people,  when  it  stood  ready  for  dedication,  they  not 
only  attended  to  his  pay,  but  voted  him  thanks  for 
his  faithfulness,  and  the  style  in  w^hich  he  had  fur- 
nished the  best  embellishment  of  Hampden. 

That  church  was  an  advertisement,  publishing 
his  skill  where  newspapers  would  not  be  credited. 
Travelers  from  Boston  and  New  York  expressed 
surprise  to  find  so  splendid  a  piece  of  architecture, 
even  in  a  large  and  aristocratic  country  town,  and 
declared  that  the  Master  Builder  would  find  plenty 
of  engagements  in  the  city.  New  applications 
poured  in  upon  him,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  his 
talent  was  maturing,  and  his  fortune  would  soon  be 
made.  He  took  Martha  Sumner  to  the  dedication, 
and  they  never  forgot  the  pleasant  thoughts  which 
gladdened  their  hearts  that  day. 

By  that  time  Jason  Tyler  and  "Wellington  Golden 
made  another  shift.  One  Banks  had  invented  a 
new  kind  of  beer,  Avhich  became  the  rage  of  that 
region.  It  was  richer  and  finer  than  any  other  in 
use,  while  it  was  said  to  be  wholesome,  and  even 


194  THE     FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

medicinal.  A  specimen  bottle  was  sent  to  the 
-President,  and  it  was  asserted  that  he  returned  his 
"sense  of  attention,"  and  pronounced  it  very  rich 
and  fine.  Specimen  bottles  were  sent  to  star  actors 
and  singers  in  the  city,  and  to  eminent  clergymen 
in  the  country,  and  the  inventor  affirmed  that  all 
were  delighted  with  its  flavor  and  its  hue.  Speci 
men  bottles  were  sent  to  all  the  towns  around  as 
far  as  Buffalo,  and  soon  a  general  voice  was  calling 
for  Banks's  Beer, 

Others,  of  course,  desired  to  make  the  beer,  and 
the  inventor  partitioned  the  State  into  sections,  and 
opened  the  sale  of  recipes.  Wellington  considered 
the  opportunity-  it  offered  for  easy  speculation,  broke 
the  project  to  Jason,  and  they  purchased  a  recipe, 
with  the  right  to  sell  the  beer  in  all  Eric  county, 
for  two  hundred  dollars.  Neither  of  them  had 
twenty-five  dollars  of  his  own ;  but  Mr.  Tyler 
thought  so  well  of  the  idea,  he  advanced  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  to  Jason,  on  his  note,  and  that  in- 
duced Mr.  Golden,  after  some  entreaty,  and  a  course 
of  curtain  lectures  from  his  wife,  to  indorse  Wel- 
lington for  two  hundred,  that  they  might  make  a 
good  beginning. 

Such  visions  of  wealth  now  transported  the  young 
enthusiasts,  they  almost  spurned  at  our  Master 
Builder,  at  the  dedication  of  his  last  magnificent 
work ;  and,  going  home,  Wellington  actually  whis- 
pered "Aunt  Tarza,"  and  had  it  on  his  tong-ue  to 


THE     FINAL    AFFIAXCE,  195 

speak  of  Arthur's  Indian  origin,  his  once  littered 
hat,  and  the  vulgarity  of  a  mechanical  trade,  but 
the  presence  of  people  restrained  him.  On  the 
next  day  the  young  men  set  out  for  Buffalo,  to 
commence  their  beer  business.  Triumph  sat  smiling 
on  their  faces  as  they  rolled  away,  and  a  dozen 
hands  kept  waving  adieus  till  they  were  out  of 
sight. 

Returning  home  with  Martha  from  Hampden,  as 
he  drove  very  fast  to  escape  a  shower  that  was 
rising  in  the  west,  Arthur  met  Billy  Bronk  on 
horseback,  in  as  great  a  hurry.  His  fat  old  pacer 
was  all  in  a  milk-white  foam,  and  as  he  threw  up 
his  hand  and  stopped  the  Builder,  he  had  to  make 
an  effort  to  speak,  he  was  so  exhausted  from  the 
labor  of  urging  his  lazy  nag  along.  Martha  turned 
paler  as  she  saw  Arthur's  fear,  and  in  a  single  voice, 
with  quivering  lips,  they  cried,  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter?— What  has  happened?"  Billy  looked  very 
sober,  and  while  tr3-ing  again  to  speak,  Arthur  re- 
peated :  "  For  God's  sake,  what  is  the  matter? — Is 
any  body  dead  ?"  By  this  time  Billy  was  able  to 
answer — "  No,  they  still  live,  and  you  are  wanted 
at  Sumner's  sooner  than  a  ship  can  sail ! ''  and  wheel- 
ing old  Dobbin,  he  gave  him  the  sharpened  nail- 
spur  that  twinkled  at  his  left  heel,  uttered  a  groan- 
ing halloo,  and  commenced  and  maintained  a  swing- 
ing pace,  in  short  stirrups,  before  them. 

A  keen  shock  of  terror  leaped  like  lightning  to 


196  THE     FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

their  hearts,  and  a  loud  burst  of  thunder  in  the 
west,  and  the  white,  fljing  feathers  of  the  clouds 
hurrying  toward  them  on  the  roaring  wind,  set 
them  wild  with  alarm,  that  was  fearfully  increased 
by  the  suspense  in  which  Bill}'  left  them.  They 
were  certain  they  should  next  hear  of  some  sad  dis- 
aster, if  not  a  mournful  death.  They  wanted  to 
fly  home.  They  urged  the  horse  to  the  top  of  his 
speed ;  but  the  swinging  pacer  gained  on  him,  and 
they  felt  that  they  were  going  backward. 

The  roar  in  the  sky  ran  louder  and  louder ;  the 
wind  shook  the  trees,  the  rain  poured  over  the 
woods  like  Niagara ;  was  then  in  the  next  field,  and 
now,  mingled  with  hail-stones,  pelted  their  carriage. 
But  they  were  fortunate,  for  they  came  just  then  to 
a  large  open  shed,  and  run  the  horse  to  the  manger. 
It  was  agony  to  stop,  but  they  could  not  have  gone 
on  in  the  storm ;  and  they  wondered  why  Billy  did 
not  take  the  shelter,  till  they  saw  him  wheel  up  to 
a  house  some  hundred  rods  ahead. 

They  were  detained  an  hour;  and  every  minute 
seemed  a  year,  so  great  was  their  anxiety,  and  so 
gloomy  was  the  storm.  "  He  said  '  they  still  live !'  " 
cried  Martha,  sobbing  with  grief;  "so  something 
has  happened  to  more  than  one,  and  he  spoke  so 
despairingly,  they  can  hardly  be  living  now !  O, 
can  it  be  George  and  father  ?  Can  it  be  father  and 
mother?  Can  I  spare  either  of  them,  or  see  them 
panting  with   distress  ?     Dear  me !    let  us  go  on, 


THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE.  197 

Arthur ;  tlie  rain  cannot  hurt  us,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
must  fly!" 

Arthur  was  a  poor  consoler,  for  he  grieved  very 
deeply  himself;  but  he  reined  out  the  horse  while 
it  still  was  raining,  and,  as  they  took  the  road, 
Billy  Bronk  vaulted  to  the  saddle  of  his  pacer 
again,  hearing  not  a  word  of  their  call ;  and  away 
they  flew  toward  Mr.  Sumner's. 

"At  such  a  time  as  this,"  cried  Arthur,  "I  first 
saw  your  father  and  mother — after  just  such  a  wild, 
wild  storm.  I  remember  it,  as  if  it  were  yesterday. 
And  then  I  first  saw  you  and  George.  I  remember 
it  all :  but  I  hope  I  shall  see  no  one  of  your  friends 
this  day  for  the  last  time  alive,  or  find  one  of  them 
dead." 

"  Dear  me,  I  hope  not !  Do  let  the  horse  go  a 
little  faster ;  it  cannot  hurt  him,  and  I  am  so  anxious 
to  know  it  all !"'  answered  Martha. 

But  they  are  going  faster  already  than  they 
are  aware,  and  are  soon  at  her  father's  gate.  Her 
mother  is  weeping  at  the  window ;  it  must  be  her 
father  and  George  who  are  dying,  or  dead.  A 
strange  man  follows  Bill\-  Bronk  to  the  barn ;  he 
must  be  a  physician.  George  runs  to  the  Avindow ! 
George,  then,  is  well;  but  poor  father! — Mother 
looks  cheerful  as  she  weeps ;  George,  the  stranger, 
Billy  Bronk,  all  look  cheerful  now  !  What  can  it 
mean?  That  father  has  lived  to  see  them  once 
more  on  earth?     Thev  stand  in  the  house — and 


198  THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

where  is  father? — what  has  happened? — who? — 
and  Martha  faints  in  her  mother's  arms,  and  George 
lays  her  insensible  on  the  bed. 

In  comes  father,  alive;  but  Martha's  eyes  are 
closed,  and  Arthur  exclaims:  "In  Heaven's  name, 
what  has  happened  ?"  They  are  trying  to  answer, 
when  in  comes  Billy  Bronk,  asking  pardon,  and 
saying:  "This  man  can  tell  what  your  name  is, 
where  you  come  from,  and  into  what  port  you  must 
steer  your  brig,  if  you  want  to  see  your  father  and 
mother." 

"Yis,  yis,  I  calculate  that's  the  very  chap,"  in- 
terrupted the  stranger,  and  spit  through  his  teeth. 
There's  Fabens  in  every  look ;  in  the  wink  of  'is 
eye ;  in  'is  nose  and  featers.  That's  Clint,  I  know 
wal  enough. — Ye  call  'im  Arthur  Summer,  then, 
dew  ye  ?  His  name  ain't  Summer,  nor  AVinter ; 
it's  Clinton  Fabens.     I  know — " 

"But  what  do  you  all  mean?"  inquired  the 
Master  Builder:  and  by  this  time  Martha  had 
roused  up,  with  open  eyes  and  ears  to  the  scene. 
"O,  heavenly  God!  have  I  a  mother  on  earth? 
Tell  me  again,  have  I  a  mother  and  father  of  my 
own  ?     Where  are  they  ? — Who  are  they  ?" 

"  They  live  on  their  own  handsome  farm,  a  leetle 
beyend  the  Kyuga ;  only  a  leetle  beyend ;  and  they 
live  in  as  nice  a  house  as  this,  every  bit,"  replied 
the  stranger,  cocking  and  crossing  a  pair  of  little 


THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE.  199 

black  and  blue  eyes,  straightening  up  like  a  major, 
and  spitting  again  through  his  teeth. 

"But  who  are  they,  do  tell?"  inquired  Arthur, 
with  a  face  flushed  with  emotion,  and  a  voice  stifled 
with  joy, 

"  They're  hkely  folks  as  ye  ever  see,"  said  the 
stranger,  "  and  we  call  'em  Mather  and  Jula  Fabens ; 
and  they've  got  a  smart  darter,  Fanny,  who's  a 
goin'  to  be  married  pirty  quick  tew  a  feller  likely 
anough  tew  be  yer  bub." 

*'  It  cannot  be  true !"  cried  Arthur.  "  I  do  not 
deserve  such  a  blessing.  0,  tell  me,  tell  me 
true—" 

"  It's  jest  as  he  tells  you,  that's  sartain,"  inter- 
rupted Billy  Bronk ;  and  the  others  confirmed  the 
tidings,  while  Martha,  in  tears  of  joy,  exclaimed — 
"You  do  deserve  it,  Arthur,  and  how  happy  we 
shall  be !" 

That  evening,  at  Mr.  Sumner's,  was  happier  than 
the  "  feast  of  dedication,"  as  the  minister  from  his  text 
named  the  occasion  at  Hampden.  On  the  next 
morning  Arthur  made  a  few  hasty  arrangements, 
and  before  the  news  traveled  as  far  as  Tyler's, 
or  Golden's,  or  Jason  or  Wellington  heard  it,  he 
started  with  Tilly  Trofiater  for  Summerfield. 

The  news  went  around  after  that  as  if  the  birds 
had  carried  it.  Sydney  Tyler  rejoiced  as  though  the 
blessed  sunlight  of  heaven  had  once  more  visited 
his  eyes.     Mrs.  Tyler  came  running  one  way  all 


200  THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

out  of  breath,  and  Betsey  Bronk  Gordon,  another. 
Then  Barney  and  Yolney  entered,  and,  before  noon, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ruleff  Gordon,  and  others,  were  at 
Sumner's,  so  sorry  they  could  not  have  seen  Arthur 
a  moment,  and  congratuhxted  him,  and  sent  their 
love  to  his  people. 

Diaduma  Truck  carried  the  news  to  Mr.  Golden's, 
running  all  the  way  as  fost  as  her  large  feet  could 
go,  and  desiring  not  to  resist  an  emotion  of  pure 
joy  at  Arthur's  good  turn  of  fortune.  Mrs.  Golden 
listened  with  interest,  for  she  was  glad  the  mystery 
was  solved,  and  thought  to  herself,  if  she  had  known 
he  had  so  respectable  a  home,  she  might  have 
taught  Ophelia  to  regard  him  with  a  different  heart, 
and  never  opposed  any  attachment  she  might  have 
given  him.  Mr.  Golden  was  glad  for  Arthur,  and 
glad  he  had  always  used  the  young  man  well,  while 
he  re2:retted  still  more  that  he  could  not  have  mar- 
ried  his  daughter,  and  improved  her  heart  and 
destiny. 

Bolivar  heard  the  news  with  trembling,  for  he 
was  not  sure  of  Arthur's  attachment  to  Miss  Sum- 
ner. He  knew  the  Waxwoods  would  immediately 
take  to  admiring  the  Master  Builder,  and  Lusia 
would  smile  once  more  with  the  hope  of  winning 
him  to  wedlock.  Ophelia  bore  the  news  not  with- 
out pleasure  to  her  husband,  and  he  replied  that  the 
report  lacked  corroborating  evidence,  and  was  too 
improbable  to  be  entitled  to   credit.     Jason   and 


THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE.  201 

"Wellington  were  informed  of  it  in  the  first  letters 
they  received  from  home,  and  they  replied  that 
they  did  not  care,  for  they  had  found  a  business 
that  would  bring  in  money  as  fast  as  they  could 
invest  it,  and  they  would  not  have  to  work  as  hard 
as  Arthur. 

Mr.  Tyler  jumped  up  from  his  shoe-bench,  as  the 
news  startled  his  ear,  and  exclaimed,  "Good!  good! 
I  feel  prouder  than  ever  now,  that  I  took  him  home 
and  brought  him  up;"  while  Mrs.  Tyler  walked 
the  house,  and  sung,  and  wept,  and  laughed  in  the 
joy  that  overwhelmed  her,  and  kept  saying,  "  How 
they  must  feel  when  they  meet !  and  why  did  I  not 
see  him  before  he  left,  to  tell  him  how  glad  I  am, 
and  send  my  love  to  his  mother?" 

There  was  another  meeting  during  the  week — a 
visit  of  several  neighbors  at  Sumner's ;  and  they 
talked  loud  and  fast,  I  assure  you,  Billy  Bronk 
was  there ;  and,  remembering  the  romantic  parts 
he  acted  in  the  drama,  he  rose  to  very  great  im- 
portance in  his  own  esteem,  while  he  began  to 
look  almost  handsome  to  Martha,  and  she  loved 
to  bask  in  his  beaming  smile  ;  although  she 
exclaimed,  "  How  could  you  make  us  feel  so  bad, 
Mr.  Bronk,  instead  of  telling  the  good  news,  when 
you  met  us  ?" 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha  !  I  did  make  you  pull  upon  your 
anchors  a  little,  didn't  I  ?"  said  Billy. 
9* 


202  THE    FINAL    AFFIANCE. 

"  I  never  felt  so  bad  in  my  life  before,  and  I  think 
you  were  cruel,"  answered  Martha. 

"  Sodom !  it  icas  too  bad  to  put  you  in  such  a 
flutter,"  said  Billy,  "but  I  see  the  storm  would 
soon  set  your  ship  a  keelin',  and  I  thought  we'd  as 
good's  run  into  port  the  first  thing,  and  then  drink 
all  our  joy  in  snug  harljor.  And  after  all,  you  owe 
me  a  kiss,  rather  than  a  blow,  for  what  I  have  done 
for  your  Arthur.  But  see  here,  my  pretty  Pat,  why 
didn't  you  git  aboard,  and  go  and  see  your  new 
father  and  mother  ?  I'll  give  the  boy  a  trouncin' 
for  leavin'  you  behind." 

"You  didn't  want  to  go  now,  did  you,  Patty?" 
cried  Mrs.  Bronk ;  "  you'd  ruther  go  bom-by,  hadn't 
you,  Patty?  I  guess  you  had,  aha!  And  I'm 
tickled  to  death  at  sich  a  turn  out  of  his  curis  for- 
tin.  It's  dreadful  good,  it  is."  Martha  blushed, 
and  smiled,  and  whitened  by  turns,  and  stole  the 
first  opportunity  to  go  out  and  walk  in  the  gar- 
den. 

"  What  ca7i  Mr.  Pitt  and  his  wife,  and  Miss  Lusia 
say  now,  I  wonder?"  cried  one.  "They  will  feel 
cheap  enough,"  cried  another.  "Pitt  is  poorer  than 
Arthur  this  very  day,  and  don't  know  half  so 
much,"  cried  another.  "  When  does  Patty  expect 
a  letter  ?"  cried  another,  at  times  when  they  did  not 
all  talk  together.  Mrs.  Sumner  was  faint  and 
weary  with  excitement;  and  she  burnt  the  cup- 
cakes she  made  for  tea,  smoked  her  custards,  and 


THE    FINAL    AFFIAXCE.  203 

made  her  biscuit  without  salt  or  salaeratus,  while 
her  usually  perfect  table  was  set  in  great  disorder ; 
and  George  declared  he  counted,  as  she  repeated  one 
part  of  the  story,  and  she  forgot,  in  her  joy,  and 
told  it  that  same  afternoon  four  times  over. 


XV. 

HOME,    SWEET    HOME. 

Arthur  Sumner  found  his  liome  at  last,  and 
his  mother  held  his  head  on  her  bosom ;  and  his 
father  took  that  hand  in  his  once  more,  by  which 
long  ago,  when  it  was  soft  and  dimpled,  he  led  him 
to  the  fields  to  behold  God's  glories,  and  to  meeting 
to  hear  God's  praise.  He  found  his  home,  and  it 
seemed  like  a  paradise  opening  around  him.  He 
found  for  certain  that  his  name  was  neither  Summer 
nor  Winter,  but  Clinton  Fabens.  He  found,  too, 
that  he  had  a  sister,  a  blooming  and  sweet-hearted 
lass  as  ever  clasped  hands  with  beauty  in  a  rural 
walk.  And  they  loved  each  other  at  first  sight ; 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  knew  the  sense  of  a 
brother's  love,  and  how,  and  wherein  it  differed 
from  the  passion  of  one  affianced. 

The  bliss  of  that  meeting,  I  have  not  attempted 
to  describe.  The  unexpected  joy  that  bounded  in 
upon  his  sister's  marriage  feast,  at  which  he  was 
discovered  as  the  lost  lamb  returned ;  the  rapture 


HOME,     STVEET    HOME.  203 

of  those  locked  embraces;  the  pressure  of  hands, 
and  cheeks,  and  hearts ;  the  smiles,  and  tears,  and 
searching  looks ;  the  questions  and  answers  repeated 
over  and  over ;  the  renewal  of  years  to  the  old,  and 
hopes  to  the  young;  the  flying  hours  taken  from 
sleep  at  night,  for  story  upon  story ;  the  thanks 
and  praises  sent  up  to  heaven ;  the  clearing  up  of 
the  sky,  of  clouds  of  seeming  evil ;  the  hourly  in- 
crease of  home  delights  and  family  loves ;  the  as- 
sembUngs  of  neighbors,  rejoicings  of  friends; — 
these  thrilling  things  which  crowded  and  stirred  that 
scene,  the  pen  would  not  move  to  describe,  while 
the  mind  can  better  imagine. 

Arthur  found  a  whole  week  gone,  before  two 
days  were  realized,  and  then,  remembering  his  pro- 
mise to  Martha  Sumner,  he  wrote  her  the  following 
letter : — 

"  My  Dear  Martha, 

"  I  know  not  how  to  begin  my  letter,  nor  in 
what  order  to  write  out  the  things  and  thoughts 
that  hurry  my  pen  for  expression.  An  apology  is 
due  you,  and  I  may  as  well  begin  with  an  apology. 
I  promised  to  write  you  the  next  day  after  my  ar- 
rival, and  here  it  is  a  week  after  that  day,  and  you 
have  been  sending  to  the  office  in  vain,  to  get  the 
promised  letter. 

"But  such  scenes  as  I  have  passed  through !  0, 
I  know  they  would  have  prevented  you  from  writ- 


206  HOME,     SWEET    HOME. 

ing,  and  if  you  cau  now  imagine  them,  you  -vvill 
pardon  me  for  the  long  suspense  in  which  I  have 
been  compelled  to  keep  you.  Here  I  sit  beneath 
my  own  father's  roof;  and,  while  I  trace  these 
lines,  I  can  hear  the  sound  of  my  mother's  feet,  at 
work  in  the  next  room,  and  the  song  of  my  sister, 
from  the  garden ! 

"  You  must  fancy  my  feelings,  for  I  cannot  de- 
scribe them.  Those  dear  words — father,  mother, 
sister,  home — what  a  world  of  love  and  heaven 
they  breathe  into  m}^  heart,  and  how  my  heart 
knocks  against  the  table  as  I  write  them,  and  call 
those  sweet  beings  and  this  home  my  own !  Every 
word  of  the  four,  is  a  window  from  Avhich  my  soul 
can  gaze  upon  new  fields  of  love  and  bliss ;  nay,  a 
field  upon  which  it  can  roam  amid  ten  thousand 
delights  of  heaven ! 

"I  arrived  in  sight  of  my  father's,  with  Mr.  Trof- 
fater,  on  the  night  he  said  we  would  arrive,  and  I 
remained  incognito  until  the  next  afternoon,  just 
as  my  sister  was  to  be  married.  It  was  a  painful 
struggle  against  nature,  I  assure  you,  to  remain  a 
stranger  thus  long ;  but  I  thought  it  would  heighten 
the  joy  of  that  moment  to  discover  myself  then, 
and  I  wore  my  cold  disguise  unsuspected,  when,  at 
a  dozen  junctures,  I  like  to  have  forgotten,  and 
thrown  myself  into  my  mother's  arms. 

"And  such  a  scene  as  followed  the  discovery! 
Such  screams  of  joy;  such  embraces   and  tears; 


HO:\rE,     S"\VEET    HOME.  207 

such  a  pulling  and  hauling  as  they  gave  me ! — Why, 
had  you  been  here,  Martha,  you  would  have 
feared  they  would  smother  me,  and  pull  me  in 
pieces ! 

"  'But  no  more  of  that! — give  us  the  mystery 
we  are  longing  to  know!'  methinks  my  Martha 
cries.  It  is  a  brief  and  simple  story.  This  country 
was  then  new,  and  my  father  and  mother  were  liv- 
ing with  their  parents,  myself  and  my  sister,  in  a 
wild,  forest  home.  My  fourth  birth-day  had  come, 
and  I  set  out  to  go  to  my  father,  in  a  distant 
clearing,  when  a  strange  Indian,  who  had  staid  at 
Tilly  Troflfater's  (as  they  call  him)  over  night,  saw 
me  just  out  of  sight  of  home,  and  took  such  a  no- 
tion to  the  first  look  of  my  homely  face,  he  declared 
he  would  like  to  carry  me  off,  and  make  an  Indian 
of  me.  Troffater  is  described  as  then  having  been 
a  cold-hearted  lover  of  mischief,  and  he  confesses 
that  he  encouraged  the  Indian  to  steal  me,  promis- 
ing never  to  tell ;  and  ail  to  gratify  his  own  love 
of  mischief,  and  sport  his  cruel  heart  in  sight  of  the 
anguish  it  would  cause.  The  Indian  bore  me 
away,  as  you  know,  to  Sydney,  and  I  was  taken  to 
your  good  home. 

"  But  the  scenes  of  sorrow  that  ensued,  were 
quite  too  much  for  the  villain's  heart,  and  filled  it 
with  shame  and  misery.  The  misery  seemed  to 
have  crazed  him  for  a  while,  with  a  sort  of  revenge 
toward  my  people,  and  a  general  indulgence  in  vice 


208  HOME,    SWEET    HOME. 

and  evil.  But  my  father  killed  him  with  kindness 
at  last,  and  he  began  to  reform,  and,  when  alone, 
to  repent  with  agonj  and  tears.  He  would  have 
given  the  world  to  know  where  to  find  me,  and  go 
after  me ;  yet  fearing  I  was  dead,  and  dreading  to 
open  the  wounds  in  my  parents'  hearts,  he  resolved 
to  keep  the  secret,  and  leave  the  confession  for  his 
death-bed.  Time  passed  away,  and  remorse  so 
gnawed  his  guilty  heart,  he  w'as  upon  the  point  of 
making  a  confession,  when  a  peddler,  who  had 
somewhere  heard  my  story,  staid  at  his  house,  and 
gave  him  such  an  account  as  convinced  him  I  was 
the  victim  of  his  wickedness,  and  he  started  away 
in  two  days  after  me. 

"  He  wept  many  times  while  we  were  returning, 
and  again  and  again  implored  my  pardon.  I  con- 
fess, when  he  first  told  me  he  was  an  accessory  of 
the  crime  of  my  exile,  I  wanted  to  dash  the  mis- 
creant to  the  earth ;  but,  on  a  second  thought,  I 
was  ashamed,  to  find  myself  capable  of  revenge,  and 
forgave  him  with  all  my  heart.  But  such  became 
the  agony  of  his  mind,  and  such  the  confusion  into 
which  it  hurled  him,  he  would  forget,  and  cry  over 
and  over'  again,  '  I  thought  I  could,  but  I  cannot 
live  so !  Do  say  you  will  forgive  me !'  Then  I 
repeated  the  assurance,  and  he  wept  like  a  mother 
over  the  coffin  of  her  child. 

"We  arrived  in  Summerfield.  He  desired  to 
confess  to  my  father — was  in  agony  to  do  so,  but 


HOME,     SWEET    HOME.  209 

for  three  days  liid  himself  away,  in  overwhelming 
shame,  fearing  to  meet  my  father  and  mother's 
eyes.  He  told  me  if  they  would  meet  him  with 
clubs,  to  smash  him  against  the  ground,  he  could 
face  them,  but  he  could  not  stand  to  be  struck  with 
a  glance  of  those  mild  and  tender  eyes !  He  begged 
me  to  bear  his  confession  to  them,  tell  them  he 
could  wear  a  fa'ce  of  flint  no  longer,  and  prepare  the 
way  for  them  to  meet.  I  gave  his  confession.  My 
mother  exhibited  no  other  change  than  a  blush  of 
emotion,  and  a  faster  rocking  in  her  chair.  My 
sister  and  her  husband  rose  and  denounced  him 
severely ;  but  my  father — all  his  blood  was  up,  and 
seemed  ready  to  burst  through  the  pores  of  his 
skin ;  and  he  walked  the  floor,  and  foamed  with 
indignation. 

"  '  The  fiendish  wretch !'  he  exclaimed,  '  did  he 
encourage  the  crime  ?  And  has  he  kept  it  till  this 
time  from  us  ? — Was  there  no  more  manhood  than 
that,  mixed  up  with  the  devil  that  possessed  him  ? 
— Wear  a  face  of  flint  no  longer !  What  infernal 
demon  flinted  his  heart  to  wear  that  face  so  long? 
/forgive  the  little  lying  scoundrel?  How  can  I 
forgive  him  ?' 

*'  '  Will  not  God  forgive  him  ?'  asked  m}^  mother. 
'  Did  not  Christ  forgive  his  enemies  on  the  cross  ?' 

"  And,  in  half  an  hour,  my  father's  heart  melted 
and  flowed  in  streams  of  mercy.  He  thought  of 
the  love  of  Heaven,  which  could  forgive  the  murder 


210  HOME,     SWEET    HOME. 

of  Jesus;  he  thought  of  that  love,  which  had 
brought  me  alive  to  their  arms,  and  the  joy  with 
which  his  house  had  been  so  jubilant;  his  heart 
leaped  back  to  its  native  instincts,  told  him  how 
noble  it  was  to  forgive,  and  he  cried :  '  Yes — yes,  I 
forgive  him  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul,  and  I  pray 
God  to  forgive  my  passion.  Forgive  him  ?  "Why 
not?  The  poor  wretch  has  had  fhe  worst  of  it, 
after  all.  He  built  a  hell  in  his  heart,  and  all  these 
miserable  years  he  has  been  blistering  and  writhing 
in  its  horrid  flames.  Tell  him,  my  son,  that  we  all 
forgive  him,  and  bring  him  here.' 

"  So  I  led  Troffater  into  my  father's  parlor,  and 
the  scene  of  confession  and  forgiveness  was  con- 
cluded, and  though  it  taught  me  much,  and  im- 
proved my  heart,  as  I  hope,  I  never  desire  to  wit- 
ness the  like  again.  It  would  melt  a  heart  of 
marble  to  witness  such  agony  and  tears.  He  fell 
on  the  floor ;  he  kissed  my  father's  feet ;  and  with 
tears,  all  hot  from  the  horrible  hell  that  boiled  in 
his  bosom,  Jie  begged  father  to  turn  those  kind  eyes 
away,  and  repeat  his  forgiveness ;  and  yet  I  believe 
nothing  would  have  relieved  him  more  for  the  mo- 
ment, than  a  blow  or  a  frown  from  father. 

"  But  the  last  page  of  my  large  sheet  is  nearly  full, 
and  I  must  reserve  the  rest  for  another  letter,  which 
you  shall  receive  when  I  have  heard  from  you.  After 
this,  I  have  nothing  but  joy  to  write  you.  0,  how 
I  wish  you  had  come  along !     I  know  you  would 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME.        211 

love  my  people  and  my  home,  and  float  rejoicing 
with  me  on  all  these  unanticipated  tides  of  gladness 
and  delight. 

"I  cannot  get  away  as  soon  as  I  expected;  and 
tell  Jonas  May  he  may  take  charge  of  Mr.  Whit- 
ney's house,  in  Ilampden,  till  I  return,  A  heart 
full  of  love  to  my  Martha,  and  affectionate  wishes 
to  all  friends.  Give  Arthur  Gordon,  my  little  name- 
sake, a  dozen  rousing  kisses.  Write  without  delay, 
and  may  God  bless  you. 

"  Father,  mother,  sister  and  brother,  send  regards. 
Sister  Fanny  says  again  and  again,  '  Why  did  not 
you  bring  your  Martha  along,  and  let  us  embrace 
her  too?'  Mother  says,  'How  I  do  want  to  see 
her,  and  her  mother ;  that  dear  Mrs.  Tyler,  Mrs. 
Gordon,  and  all  those  kind  friends,  they  were  so 
good  to  my  lost  boy  !'  And  father  participates  their 
wishes,  and  sa3's,  'You  shall  go  right  along  back 
and  bring  her,  for  I  cannot  wait  a  week  before  I  see 
her  face.' 

"  They  tell  me  I  may  write  my  name,  '  Arthur 
Sumner  Fabens ;'  but  mother  and  Fanny  say  they 
shall  always  call  me  '  CUnton.'  But  I  must  shut 
down  this  flood-gate  of  talk,  and  so, — farewell." 

This  letter  was  received  in  due  course  of  mail, 
and,  it  being  known  by  many  that  it  was  from  Ar- 
thur, a  crowd  gathered  at  Mr.  Sumner's,  to  hear 
what  Martha  might  be  disposed  to  read  to  them. 


212  HOME,     SWEET    HOME, 

The  good  people  to  whom  love  was  sent,  were 
greatly  afifected,  while  little  Arthur  Gordon  clapped 
and  crowed  like  a  young  chanticleer,  after  his  mother 
added  Clinton  Fabens  to  his  name,  and  Martha  ad- 
ministered the  dozen  kisses. 

Martha  slept  but  little  that  night.  She  made  an 
effort  to  sleep,  but  her  mind  roamed  abroad  on  such 
rambles  of  delight,  and  her  heart  throbbed  so 
loudly,  she  saw  not  the  first  shadow  of  "Nature's 
sweet  restorer,"  till  after  the  clock  struck  two. 
Early  the  next  morning  she  began  the  following 
letter : — 

"My  Dear  Clinton, 

"  I  love  this  name  better  than  Arthur,  and  / 
mean  to  call  you  Clinton,  while  your  mother  and 
sister  cherish  the  word  which  must  speak  such  a 
world  of  endearment  to  their  hearts.  My  dear 
Clinton,  it  tried  our  patience  to  wait  so  long  for 
your  letter,  but  it  came  as  soon  as  we  had  reason  to 
expect  it.  The  light  of  Sabbath  morning  was 
never  more  welcome  than  its  words.  I  took  it  to  my 
chamber,  and  enjoyed  it  first,  as  I  would  a  new  poem 
from  Campbell,  marked  what  you  said  of  your 
humble  friend,  and  read  the  rest  to  a  crowd  in  the 
parlor, 

"  You  could  have  heard  their  hearts  tick  in  time 
with  the  old  clock,  as  I  read.  Mr.  Bronk  cried, 
'  Tliat  was  Trofiiiter  that  come  after  him,   was  it 


HOME,     SWEET    HOME.  213 

tHen  ?  and  he  was  the  feller  that  helped  the  Indian 
off  with  him,  eh  ?  Sodom !  it  was  well  for  the  lit- 
tle porpus  that  he  wore  his  flinty  face  here ;  for  if 
I'd  a  known  his  yarn,  I'd  a  been  tempted  to  shiver 
his  timbers  for  him !'  But  father  and  mother  made 
him  confess  you  all  did  right  by  the  erring  man ; 
and  you  will  pardon  me  for  repeating  such  words 
in  my  letter. 

"  Mrs.  Tyler  wept  and  laughed  alternately,  she 
was  so  affected  by  your  mother's  kind  words  about 
her,  while  my  mother  and  her  friends  could  not  re- 
strain their  tears.  Father  had  to  read  the  letter 
over  the  second  time ;  all  declared  it  too  short,  and 
father  said  he  wished  you  would  take  two  sheets 
for  your  next  letter,  and  permit  him  to  pay  the 
postage !  Your  little  curly  Arthur  enjoyed  his 
kisses  right  well.  Your  story  has  been  all  the  talk 
of  the  neighborhood  since  your  departure.  I  will 
believe  that  every  heart  rejoiced  for  you,  and  the 
surprise  which  overcame  some,  cannot  but  leave  be- 
hind a  regret  for  past  conduct.  Father  Dilworth 
preached  a  sermon  last  Sunday,  on  the  '  Ways  of 
Providence,'  and  many  felt  sure  it  was  suggested 
by  your  strange  fortune.     "\Ye  sung  the  hymn — 

'  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way.' 

The  third  verse  in  particular, 

'  Ye  fearful  souls,  fresh  courage  take, 

T7ie  clouds  you  so  much  dread, 
Are  big  with  mercy,  aiid  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head  j' 


214        HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

"was  descriptive  of  scenes  wliicli  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten, while  the  fifth  verse  still  mingles  -with  the 
music  of  my  hopes  and  anticipations,  as  the  very 
winds  that  wave  the  pines  above  me,  seem  to  line 
the  whole  heavenly  hymn,  and  the  birds  strike  the 
strain,  and  flood  all  the  air  with  its  melody. 

"  It  was  not  for  me  to  accompany  you  home  this 
time,  yet  I  do  desire  to  be  with  you,  and  share  those 
scenes  of  bliss !  I  desire  to  see  your  sister,  and 
your  parents;  apd  assure  them,  my  dear,  that  already 
my  heart  has  fruitened  with  a  new  love,  and  they 
may  enjoy  it  all.  What  a  marriage-day  was  that ! 
O,  may  ours  be  half  as  happy !  And  what  should 
hinder  its  joys,  if  God  gives  us  health  and  prosper- 
ity, and  all  our  dear  friends  live  to  '  make  merry ' 
with  us  ? 

"  Why  did  you  not  write  more,  and  describe  your 
parents,  your  sister,  and  home,  and  all  to  me?  I 
can  imagine  I  see  them  all ;  but  tell  me  in  your 
next,  more  about  them.  I  care  not — so  long  as 
they  are  happy — if  they  live  in  a  hovel ;  but  are 
there  beautiful  landscapes  around  it  ?  Do  the  quails 
whistle,  and  the  meadow-larks  sing  to  Fanny  as 
they  did  to  you  and  me  ?  Have  they  a  lake  to 
match  our  lovely  Wallawanda  ?  Can  you  look  out 
on  clover  meadows,  or  pine,  or  maple  woods  ? 

"  I  long  to  be  with  you  in  person,  I  assure  you. 
My  spirit  hovers  over  you,  and  breathes  that  sweet 
influence  you  feel  floating  across  your  brow  !    And 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME.        215 

is  not  this  yours,  whose  folding  wings  I  feel  ? — 
When  will  you  return  ?  We  will  not  be  selfish ; 
your  friends  have  been  without  you  so  long ;  but 
will  you  tell  us  when  we  may  expect  you  ?  Several 
have  said  you  will  not  live  in  Sydney  any  more ; 
you  must  do  as  you  think  best. 

"Your  business  goes  on  well,  father  says,  but 
Jonas  May  is  in  a  panic  for  fear  you  will  leave  this 
place,  and  abandon  your  trade,  you  have  such  a 
happy  home  there.  I  hope  you  will  not  abandon 
architecture.  I  shall  go  this  afternoon  and  see  our 
log  house,  and  sit  a  while  under  our  elms,  and  eat 
a  pippin  and  a  peach,  perhaps,  and  remember  my 
love  for  Clinton.  Poor  Andalusia  has  been  more 
cheerful  for  a  few  days,  and  Bolivar  looks  haggard 
and  absent.  Some  suspect  the  reason  of  his  grief! 
Jason  and  Wellington  write  flaming  accounts  of 
their  prospects,  and  I  suppose  they  expect  to  return 
with  money  enough  to  buy  up  our  town.  Report 
says  Duma  Truck  is  to  be  married  to  a  widower 
with  eight  children,  in  Livonia,  but  I  cannot  be- 
lieve it  is  true. 

"  Mrs.  Melvin  is  starting  a  donation  party  for  our 
minister,  and  she  says  it  shall  be  a  good  one  this 
time,  and  Widow  Chubb  and  Mrs.  Dr.  Wax  wood 
shall  not  have  all  to  say ;  and  the  things  shall  not 
be  paraded  before  the  people,  and  marked  above 
market  value,  to  make  others  believe  we  set  more 
by  our  minister ;  and  the  three  Chandler  boys  and 


216  HOME,     SWEET    HOME. 

two  Presseys  sliall  not  come  and  have  their  supper 
■with  the  rest,  for  donating  a  pound  of  tobacco  and 
a  broom.  I  am  glad  she  feels  so !  The  Sewing 
Circle  sew  for  Mrs.  Tyler  this  week. 

"  Morton  Maxy  is  out  with  a  poem  '  to  Julia,'  in 
the  Hampden  Gazette.  I  have  been  reading  '  The 
Culprit  Fay,'  and  seemed  in  a  spiritual  sphere  en- 
tranced, as  I  followed  the  poet  in  his  magical  flights. 
Phebe  Frances  Trexlar  is  engaged.  Such  sunsets 
as  we  are  having  in  your  absence !  Old  Mr.  Golden 
is  quite  unwell.  Poor  man,  how  I  feel  for  him  !  he 
is  so  neglected,  and  his  heart  so  tenderly  feels  his 

situation.     I  would  run  over  in  a  minute,  and  com- 

* 
fort  him,  if  Mrs.  Golden  would  not  look  bitter. 

"  The  day  after  yom*  departure,  Sydney  went  to 
Hampden  with  Mr.  Summerton,  and  carried  a  load 
of  baskets,  and  lost  his  pocket-book  on  his  way 
home,  with  every  cent  of  his  hard-earned  money. 
He  did  not  miss  it  till  he  was  home,  and  his  grief 
was  very  great.  While  he  was  lamenting,  his  dear 
friend  Ranger  disappeared,  and  in  about  two  hours 
returned,  bounding  with  joy,  and  the  recovered 
treasure  was  in  his  mouth !  He  really  seems  incar- 
nate with  some  bright  human  spirit,  he  is  so  good 
and  wise.  He  will  deserve  a  monument  when  he 
dies. 

Poor  Sydney  has  quite  abandoned  his  willows 
for  a  few  days,  and  though  he  fears  you  may  reside 
in  Summerfield,  he  is  so  glad  for  you,  he  rejoices 


HOME,     SWEET    HOME.  217 

ni^t  and  day.  His  face  flashed  the  rosiest  beams 
of  joy,  when  I  read  him  the  love  you  sent.  I  led 
him  out  yesterday  into  our  south  meadow,  which 
you  remember  is  in  its  second  bloom,  and,  after  a 
strain  from  his  flute  had  tuned  my  spirit,  I  read 
Shelley's  '  Sensitive  Plant,'  till  he  had  mingled  its 
liquid  syllables  with  the  music  of  his  spirit,  and 
could  repeat  it  word  for  word.  He  says  he  will  re- 
ward me  by  singing  it  to  me  in  heaven.  What  a 
beautiful  thought !  He  assured  me  again,  he  could, 
without  tasting  the  fragrance  or  treading  the  grass, 
distinguish  a  blooming  meadow  from  a  common  or 
waste,  by  that  presence  of  beauty  which  he  always 
detects  and  feels.  More  than  once  he  exclaimed : 
'How  1  do  miss  brother  Arthur!'  He  sends  you  a 
heart  full  of  love.  All  send  love,  and  desire  to  see 
you. 

"  Tell  your  friends  they  must  all  come  with  you 
when  you  return.  A  kiss  for  Fanny — a  warm  kiss 
• — and  one  for  your  mother.  Heaven  bless  you  I 
Farewell." 


10 


XVI. 

THE    BOW    IN    THE    CLOUD. 

With  a  dancing  heart,  Arthur  received  Mar- 
tha's letter,  and  with  an  eager  zest  his  friends 
enjoyed  its  words.  Not  one  of  them  was  sat- 
isfied to  hear  another  read  it,  but  Arthur  must 
take  it  from  his  bosom  and  let  mother,  father, 
Fanny,  and  George  take  it  into  their  own  hands 
and  read  it  again  for  themselves. 

"  What  a  beautiful  hand  she  writes !"  cried  Fanny, 
"  I  wish  I  could  write  as  well.  I  don't  believe  she 
has  done  so  much  spinning  and  churning  as  I 
have." 

"  She  has  done  a  good  deal  of  it,  I  assure  you," 
said  her  brother.  "The  compositions  you  showed 
me,  read  as  well  as  Martha's;  and  that  is  the  main 
thing,  after  all.  If  you  have  elegant  sentences  and 
beautiful  thoughts,  you  may  well  afford  to  express 
them  with  letters  as  sprawling  as  quail-tracks. 
How  many  write  nonsense  in  a  genteel  boarding- 
school  hand!     I  like  beautiful  penmanship,  how- 


THE    BOW     IN     THE    CLOUD.  219 

ever,  and  you  would  soon  write  as  well  as  she,  if 
you  would  take  as  much  pains." 

"  Her  very  soul  seems  to  flow  out  of  her  charac- 
ters," said  George  Ludlow. 

"  I  want  to  see  her  more  than  ever,  now,"  said 
Mrs,  Fabens.  "  I  know  she  must  be  a  lovely  crea- 
ture, and  good  as  she  is  lovely.  How  kindly  she 
speaks  of  those  who  were  unkind  to  you  !" 

"  That  is  a  very  good  mark  in  the  girl,  a  very 
good  mark,"  added  Squire  Fabens. 

"  But  you  must  not  keep  her  waiting  so  long  for 
the  next  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Fabens,  "you  must  write 
to-morrow." 

"  O,  I  tell  you,  Clinton !  take  your  paper  and  ink 
down  to  the  lake-shore,  where  we  are  to  have  our 
pic-nic,  and  write  there,  and  be  up  with  her !  Let 
her  know  we  have  trees  in  Summerfield,  and  some- 
thing more  beautiful  even  than  clover-fields  to  in- 
spire us !"  cried  Fanny,  in  a  blush  of  laughing 
bliss. 

"  That  will  be  delightful ;  I  will  do  it,"  said  her 
brother ;  and  the  next  morning,  when  the  sun  had 
dried  the  dew  and  warmed  the  valley,  the  Fabenses 
went  down  to  the  lake-shore  for  their  family  pic- 
nic. And  while  George  and  the  Squire  were  fish- 
ing, and  Fanny  was  reading,  and  Mrs.  Fabens  gath- 
ering a  bowl  of  wild  grapes  to  stew  for  their  rural 
supper,  Arthur  seated  himself  under  a  low,  branch- 
ing pine,  and  penned  the  following  letter : 


220        the  bow    in  the  cloud. 

"Dearest  Martha, 

"Your  affectionate  letter  was  received  in 
due  time,  and  jet  it  seemed  so  long  to  us,  we 
concluded  some  slow-footed  mules  were  bringing  it. 
You  had  better  talk  of  my  writing  on  two  sheets, 
girl,  when  you  did  not  send  enough  for  more  than 
one  good  taste !  Pray,  treat  us  to  a  larger  dessert 
yourself,  before  you  expect  me  to  burden  the  mail 
with  a  double  foolscap  letter !  I  wish  you  could 
have  seen  how  mother  and  Fanny  swallowed  yours, 
even  to  the  beauty  they  saw  in  your  writing. 

"  You  need  not  think  to  come  at  lovelier  thoughts, 
by  getting  under  your  pines  to  write.  /  now  sit 
under  a  pine,  every  whit  as  beautiful  as  yours,  and 
while  my  pen  goes,  (and  the  boughs  drop  in  my 
hair !)  its  busy  music  is  drowned  by  the  song  of  a 
family  of  robins  above  me.  And  one,  more  joyous 
than  the  rest,  I  fancy  incarnate  with  that  dear  spirit 
my  Martha  assures  me  is  hovering  near. 

"  Your  clover-meadow  is  very  fine,  I  allow,  at 
this  hour  in  its  second  bloom ;  but  is  it  nothing  to 
gaze,  as  I  can,  from  this  bank,  where  the  lichens 
open  their  colored  cups,  and  lift  their  shining  discs 
to  the  joy  of  this  rare  September  day  ?  Is  it  nothing 
to  gaze,  as  I  do,  on  a  lake  more  beautiful  than 
yours,  and  count  the  kindling  ripples,  and  open  my 
breast  to  its  animating  breeze  ? 

"Our  folks  come  here  often  for  their  family  pic- 
nics, and  we  are  here  to-day  for  a  rare  one.     What 


THE    BOW    IlSr    THE     CLOUD.  221 

would  I  not  give  if  you  and  your  family  were  here ! 
Father  and  George  Ludlow,  (Fanny's  husband,)  are 
out  in  a  boat,  fishing,  and  I  see  them  hauling  in 
trout  and  pickerel,  hand  over  hand.  Mother  is 
preparing  for  supper,  and  Fanny  is  reading  '  Irving's 
Rural  Life  in  England.'  Cloths  are  laid  under  a 
wide-spreading  oak,  on  a  little  lawn  at  my  left,  and, 
about  three  o'clock,  we  expect  a  fine  old  gentleman 
they  call  Uncle  Walter,  his"  wife  and  others,  to  sup 
with  us. 

"  They  have  told  me  so  much  of  the  trout  chow- 
der we  are  to  have,  and  other  pic-nic  '  fixings,'  my 
mouth  fairly  waters  to  taste  one.  I  cannot  describe 
the  scenery  that  opens  around  me.  You  must  come 
and  see  it  yourself.  In  reply  to  your  inquiries,  I 
would  say  yes !  we  have  all  the  delightful  things 
you  mention,  and  it  has  seemed  sometimes  that  the 
very  same  trees  are  here,  the  same  birds,  and  your 
own  clover-meadow,  near  my  father's  house,  with 
tlie  same  splendid  sky  overspreading  all. 

"  The  Cayuga  bounds  my  father's  farm — the 
magnificent  Cayuga — and  from  my  seat  on  this 
green  moss,  I  can  throw  a  stone  into  its  bright  wave. 
The  water  reflects  all  the  green  of  the  woods,  all  the 
red  of  the  sumac,  and  blue  and  yellow  of  the  sky ; 
and  every  dash  of  an  oar,  or  dart  of  a  fish,  turns 
up  a  little  rainbow  to  the  sun.  There  are  corn- 
fields on  the  opposite  shore,  Avaving  their  shining 
lances;  there  are  stubble-fields,  alternating wdth  early 


222         The   bow  in  the   cloud. 

fallows,  whose  green  blades  of  wheat  look  like 
scarfs  of  velvet  on  the  hill.  Wheat-stacks  and  pea- 
stacks  stud  the  more  distant  fields.  And  from  them, 
as  from  the  leafy  arcades  of  the  woods,  I  count  fine 
types  of  architecture. 

"Father  and  mother  talk  of  growing  old;  but 
really  they  appear  young,  and,  allow  me  to  say,  I 
have  seldom  seen  finer  looking  people.  Father 
makes  me  think  of  Daniel  Dale,  and  is  quite  as 
noble  in  his  form  and  mien.  Mother  resembles 
Mrs.  Maxy ;  she  has  the  same  fine  countenance,  the 
same  spirited,  yet  chastened  eye,  and  is  just  about 
as  matronly,  and  as  prompt,  too,  to  tell  you  what 
she  feels  and  thinks !  She  has  an  idea  that,  while 
a  wife  should  stand  in  harmony,  she  should  also 
stand  an  individual  pillar  in  the  temple  of  life,  hav- 
ing her  own  base  and  capital,  and  not  content  her- 
self with  forming  merely  the  plinth  or  abacus  of 
that  other  pillar — her  husband. 

"  Fanny  is  rich  and  rural  as  clover ;  and  while 
she  seems  very  affectionate,  refined  in  sentiment, 
and  high-principled,  she  is  sunny  as  your  little  lake, 
in  cloud  or  shine,  and  she  can  train  like  a  trooper. 
I  love  her  husband  ;  I  love  all  about  me, — I  have 
a  right  to  love  them,  and  tell  you  how  good  they 
look  to  me. 

"  Tell  kind  old  Billy  Bronk,  I  have  found  a  match 
for  him  in  a  friendly  heart  and  good  story.  I  mean 
to  bring  them  together,  and  it  will  be  worth  a  dol- 


THE    BOW    IN    THE    CLOUD,  223 

lar  to  listen  to  their  yarns.  Dear  Mrs.  Tyler,  how 
often  I  think  of  her  motherly  deeds  to  me !  She 
shall  never  want  for  a  friend,  while  I  live.  I  think 
well  of  Mr.  Tyler,  also,  and  thank  him  now  for 
many  good  lessons  in  life.  I  rejoice  sincerely  to 
hear  how  Jason  and  Wellington  prosper. 

"  Your  account  of  Father  Dil worth's  sermon,  re- 
minds me  of  what  I  heard  last  Sunday.  An  old 
gentleman  they  call  Father  Lovelight,  who  married 
my  sister,  preached  here.  He  is  a  traveling  preach- 
er, and  is  so  much  liked,  the  clergyman  of  the 
place,  a  Baptist,  insisted  on  his  taking  his  pulpit, 
and  preaching  to  his  people,  while  he  sat  below  and 
heard.  Father  Lovelight  appears  in  doctrine  what 
Father  Dilworth  is  in  practice,  all  love,  sympathy, 
and  hope.  His  views  absolutely  startle  me  with 
hopefulness ;  and  I  should  be  too  happy  if  I  be- 
lieved them,  as  all  my  family  do.  And  yet,  strange 
as  it  may  appear  to  some,  they  no  more  than  carry 
out  to  full  conclusions,  Father  Dilworth's  practical 
principles. 

"  Conversing  with  me  on  architecture,  he  said 
Paul  must  have  drawn  some  of  his  grandest  figures 
from  the  temples  he  saw  in  Corinth,  Athens  and 
Rome.  He  quoted  Ephesians,  ii.  21,  22,  to  convince 
me  that  the  human  race  will  rise  at  last  to  one  har- 
monious completion  in  purity  and  grace ;  and  all 
the  plans  of  God  will  be  developed  in  perfect  and 
symmetrical  light  and  finish,  like  the   Pantheon 


224  THE    BOW     IN    THE    CLOUD. 

which  his  eyes  may  have  seen  as  he  penned  that 
passage;  or  the  Parthenon  which  must  have  en- 
riched his  memory  of  Athens. 

"  He  preached  a  sermon,  which  he  illustrated  by 
my  singular  fortune.  He  called  it  '  the  Bow  in  the 
Cloud,'  from  his  text — Gen.  ix.  13,  1-4.  I  wish  you 
could  have  heard  that  sermon.  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  The  conclusion  actually  entranced  me,  and  I 
tremblingly  wished  all  he  promised  might  come 
true.  Every  word  seemed  a  rapture  to  father  and 
mother,  in  which  they  wept  for  joy.  I  will  try 
and  give  you  an  idea  of  it.  Yesterday,  I  could 
have  quoted  the  whole  of  it,  in  such  burning  let- 
ters was  it  written  on  my  heart.  After  an  intro- 
duction, which  he  ended  with  the  6th  and  7th  verses 
of  Campbell's  '  Eainbow,'  he  stated  three  proposi- 
tions, and  spoke  to  them  in  course.  First,  God 
brings  over  the  earth  a  cloud  of  seeming  Evil ; 
secondly,  a  cloud  of  Sorrow^ ;  thirdly,  a  cloud  of 
Threatenings.  Under  the  second  head,  he  gave  an 
illustration,  which  I  remember  now. 

"  He  had  spoken  of  the  frequency  and  anguish 
of  sorrow,  and  told  how  hard  it  was  for  all  to  en- 
dure sorrow  as  they  ought.  'And  hard  as  any 
thing,  to  anticipate  impending  sorrow,  (these  are 
his  words  very  nearly,  I  think.)  As  we  look  before 
us,  and  see  the  cloud  gathering  and  threatening 
with  woes  that  we  think  must  soon  fall,  we  are 
bowed  down  in  spirit,  and  pray  that  the  cup  may 


THE    BOW    IN    THE    CLOUD.  225 

pass.  "We  cannot,  for  our  life,  see  how  it  can  be 
changed  to  a  blessing.  But  Heaven  is  infinitely  kind 
in  all  which  is  permitted,  and  as  the  light  of  the 
Lord  reveals  his  purpose^  the  universe  of  evils  is 
transfigured  into  beauties  and  blessings,  and  we  en- 
joy the  vision  of  delight.  The  cloud  must  appear, 
but  it  shall  come  to  pass, — and  the  Lord  hath  said 
it, — "  when  I  bring  a  cloud  over  the  earth,  the  bow 
shall  be  seen  in  the  cloud." 

"  '  I  rode  in  a  carriage  one  morning,'  said  he. 
'  The  night  before  had  been  rainy.  After  the  rain 
there  came  a  light  snow,  and  after  the  snow,  a  frost ; 
and,  while  the  morning  was  clearer  than  a  yellow 
topaz,  every  spire  of  hay  uncropped,  every  rock, 
and  twig,  and  tree  was  covered  with  ice,  and  shone 
like  objects  of  crystal  on  my  eyes.  I  rode/rom  the 
sua.  The  aspect  of  nature  was  strange  and  won- 
derful, as  I  have  often  beheld  it  in  dreams.  Look- 
ing before  me,  I  saw  only  the  dusky  trees  and  cold 
snowy  fields,  devoid  of  light,  and  shrouded  in  a 
gloom  that  froze  me  as  I  gazed. 

"'But  what  was  my  surprise  an  instant  after! 

What  a  change  met  my  face,  as  I  turned  around 

and  viewed  the  scene  in  the  light  of  the  sun !    The 

sun   poured   his    glory  over  field  and  forest,  and 

every  rock  was  blazing,  and  every  leafless  herb, 

every  branching  tree  and  waving  bough,  flamed 

with  light,  like  a  landscape  of  gold  and  silver,  and 

objects  that  before  were  dark,  now  glittered  in  glory ; 
10* 


226  THE    BOW    IX    THE     CLOUD. 

and  things,  before  undefined,  were  revealed,  and 
transfigured  in  beauty ;  and  I  found  myself  dream- 
ing that  I  rode  in  a  chariot,  and  was  wheeling  from 
star  to  star,  and  pausing  amid  bowers  of  opal  and 
jasper  in  the  paradise  of  God ! 

"  '  The  scene  filled  my  mind  with  pleasing  simili- 
tudes, and  this  was  one :  as  we  look  forward  from 
the  advancing  vehicle  of  life,  the  objects  before  us 
will  often  appear  cold  and  gloomy,  frowning  with 
sorrow,  and  veiled  in  a  mystery,  troublous  and  in- 
definable, and  we  will  dread  to  meet  them  lest  they 
crush  us,  with  a  burden  of  anguish,  to  the  earth. 

"  '  But  change  the  scene ;  look  back  upon  life, 
through  the  path  of  experience,  and  see  the  different 
aspect.  How  changed  to  joy  and  glory  !  The  sun 
of  God's  providence  shines  down  on  each  trial, 
grief  and  mystery,  and  observing  them  as  lit  all 
alive  with  its  beams,  we  see  how  He  brings  good 
out  of  evil,  and  makes  every  thing  beautiful  in  His 
time. 

"  '  We  cease  then  to  wonder  that  we  have  been 
afflicted.  We  cease  then  to  tremble  beneath  the 
cloud  of  sorrow,  as  the  bow  of  promise  beams  on 
its  breast.  We  cease  to  lament,' — but  my  letter  is 
nearly  fall,  and  I  must  abandon  a  theme  which 
haunts  my  soul  with  dreams  of  bliss,  I  am  afraid 
to  believe  all  true. 

"  I  am  glad  you  visit  our  will-he  home.  Fill  up 
your  heart  Avith  enjoyment.     Be  ready  to  give  me 


THE    BOW    IN    THE    CLOUD.  227 

all  the  beauty  of  every  book  you  have  read  in  my 
absence,  and  every  scene  you  have  visited.  I  shall 
return  as  soon  as  I  can  have  a  conscience  to  tear 
myself  from  my  dear  friends.  The  hunger  of  their 
love  is  not  nearly  satisfied,  and  I  must  stay  a  few 
weeks  longer.  They  will  not  consent  to  my  living 
away  from  them.  I  know  not  what  to  do.  I  can- 
not bear  to  leave  them  long ;  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
gratify  their  wishes,  and  yet  I  think  I  should  rather 
live  in  Sydney. 

"  I  must  return  for  a  while  and  arrange  my  busi- 
ness. Jonas  may  dismiss  one  fear.  I  shall  never 
give  up  architecture  in  this  world.  Father  desires 
me  to  give  it  up,  and  do  what  I  like  on  his  farm. 
He  has  told  me  what  he  means  to  give  me ;  it  is 
more  than  I  need,  and  I  might  live  easy  and  idle 
if  I  chose ;  but  my  trade  is  one  of  my  spouses,  and 
I  shall  cleave  to  that,  and  that  onl_^.  In  a  year  or 
two,  I  mean  to  visit  New  York,  (what  say  you,  if 
you  go  along?)  and  enlarge  my  studies,  and  perhaps 
engage  myself  three  or  four  seasons  there.  Who 
knows  how  much  this  education  will  aid  us  here- 
after, to  contemplate,  with  higher  bliss,  the  temple 
of  God,  the  pillars  of  paradise,  and  the  infinite  halls 
and  arches  of  heaven  ?  I  join  in  all  your  prayers. 
How  I  do  want  to  see  you !  Dispense  my  love  to 
all ;  and,  next  to  yourself,  give  Sydney  Tyler  the 
largest  share.     The  Lord  hold  you  in  his  heart." 


228  THE    BOW    IN    TUE    CLOUD. 

Martha  walked  into  the  village,  and  took  this 
letter  from  the  office ;  and  she  saw  little  else  return- 
ing home.  The  message  affected  her  very  much, 
and  she  walked  faster,  in  her  excitement,  and  rested 
less  than  she  was  aware.  Another  fine  treat  was  en- 
joyed as  her  friends  read  the  letter.  The  hour  was 
late  when  they  retired,  and  the  morning  smile  lit  on 
her  eyelashes  before  she  closed  them.  She  had  lain 
down  more  fatigued  than  any  one  knew,  and  the 
joy  of  the  letter  overcame  her.  Her  pulse  throbbed 
unnatui'ally ;  and  the  coolest  water  did  nothing  to 
allay  the  thirst  that  was  parching  her  lips  and 
tongue.  She  lay  beyond  her  usual  time,  in  hope 
of  a  little  sleep  and  rest ;  Mrs.  Sumner  entered  her 
chamber,  and  was  alarmed  to  find  she  had  decided 
symptoms  of  a  fever. 


XVII. 

THE    SACRED   SUPPER. 

The  day  went  by,  and  night  found  a  shadow 
before  it,  veihng  the  Queen  of  the  Fields.  That 
shadow  was  not  so  dense,  but  the  brighter  stars 
could  pierce  it  when  they  looked  from  the  heavens ; 
still  it  was  a  shadow  in  advance  of  night,  a  shadow 
of  deepening  gloom. 

Martha  Sumner  had  lain  in  her  chamber  all  the 
long  day,  and  her  symptoms  were  worse  instead  of 
better.  Her  temples  beat  with  a  low,  quick  pulse ; 
her  tongue  was  dry  and  brown ;  her  brain  swum 
in  giddy  circles;  her  nerves  were  in  a  tremor; 
her  breathing  was  difficult ;  stupor  and  delirium  con- 
tended for  her  mind,  and  her  physician  said  she  had 
typhus  fever. 

The  family  around  her  bedside  heard  the  deci- 
sion with  a  shudder,  and,  watching  his  countenance, 
they  discovered  he  had  great  anxiety,  which  one  or 
two  symptoms,  that  he  still  stood  observing,  tended 
to  increase.     He  regretted  they  had  not  called  him 


230  THE     SACRED     SUPPER. 

before.  He  wrote  liis  prescription,  laid  out  and 
marked  his  medicines;  and  gave  his  orders,  request- 
ing Mrs.  Sumner  to  sit  by  her  daughter  through 
the  night,  and  strengthened  her  heart,  by  saying  he 
would  remain  till  morning,  and  see  what  he  could 
do  to  check  the  progress  of  the  fever. 

The  patient  passed  a  very  uncomfortable  night ; 
and  from  four  till  eight  in  the  morning,  she  surveyed 
the  room  with  delirious  glances,  murmured  some- 
thing of  New  York,  and  the  pillars  and  arches  of 
heaven,  remembered  of  Arthur's  letter,  and  had 
scarcely  a  lucid  moment.  The  face  of  the  physician 
told  that  the  fever  had  fastened  upon  another  and 
another  vital  part,  baffling  all  his  attempts  to  ar- 
rest it. 

That  day  and  another  passed,  and  it  was  decided 
that  she  would  have  to  lie  long  in  the  low  and  lan- 
guid contest  between  life  and  death,  if  she  recovered 
at  all.  Joy  forsook  the  household,  and  grief  super- 
seded the  stricken  maiden  at  the  family  altar :  sat 
in  her  chair  at  the  table,  and  walked  her  usual 
rounds.  On  the  third  day,  in  the  afternoon,  while 
her  mother  was  wetting  her  lips  Avith  a  little  lemon- 
ade, Martha  roused  a  moment  from  her  stupor,  and 
casting  a  searching  look  around  the  room,  and  out 
of  the  door,  she  murmured  the  name  of  Clinton,  as 
if  wondering  why  he  was  not  there,  and  giving  up 
all  the  life  that  remained,  to  the  dear  desire  of  see- 
ing him.     The  expression  was  made  known  to  Mr. 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  231 

Sumner,  and  he  dispatctied  a  line  immediately  to 
Summerfield,  intimating  the  fear  that  Arthur  might 
not  see  Martha  again  on  earth,  and  inquiring  if  it 
would  be  convenient  for  him  to  return  without 
delay. 

The  letter  was  borne  by  rapid  coaches,  was  re- 
ceived and  read  at  the  Fabens  fireside,  and  filled 
the  house  Avith  a  sorrow  which  had  not  before  en- 
tered there  since  the  night  the  fires  were  lit,  and 
bells  were  all  rung,  to  keep  the  wild  beasts  from 
devouring  lost  Clinton.  Night  was  just  setting  in 
with  a  clear  sky  and  broad  and  beaming  moon ;  and 
Arthur  desired  to  set  out  immediately  for  S3^dney. 
He  moved  electric  with  resolution,  and  counted  no 
hindrance  or  fatigue  in  the  journey. 

He  was  impatient  with  his  cumbrous  bod}'  for 
hindering  his  heart  from  flying  in  a  minute  to  that 
sick  chamber.  The  whole  family  grieved  in  sym- 
pathy with  him,  as  though  it  had  been  one  of  their 
own  familiar  household.  Yet  they  could  not  start 
immediately.  The  stage  would  not  pass  till  the 
next  afternoon,  and  their  own  carriage  and  horses 
could  not  be  made  ready  before  morning.  He 
must  wait  till  morning,  and  his  father  and  mother 
would  go  with  him. 

The  night  crept  away  so  slowly,  time  seemed  to 
have  reversed  his  wheels ;  but  a  ray  of  twilight  at 
last  tipped  the  tallest  limbs  of  the  trans-Cayuga 
woods,  and  they  were  on  their  early  way  for  Syd- 


232  THE    SACRED    SUPPER. 

nej.  The  roads  were  fine,  and,  with  a  brisk  team 
and  light  carriage,  they  left  woods  and  fields  in  mov- 
ing succession  behind  them.  Had  the  journey  been 
one  of  pleasure,  they  had  enjoyed  it  greatly,  for 
they  rode  through  one  of  the  loveliest  gardens 
which  God  has  planted  on  this  earth.  But  the 
gayest  landscape  looked  mournful  for  their  sake, 
^nd  the  blessed  sunshine  was  the  more  gloomy,  for 
the  more  brightness  in  which  it  fell. 

At  last  they  arrived  at  the  Queen  of  the  Fields, 
and  Mr.  Sumner  and  George  came  out  to  the  gate, 
crying :  "  It  is  Arthur !  it  is  Arthur ! — She  is  alive, 
and  will  know  you  !"  It  was  not  a  time  for  intro- 
ductions, and  the  strangers  got  acquainted  as  they 
could;  while  Martha's  pallid  and  emaciated  face 
was  pillowed  on  Arthur's  heart,  and  her  eyes  were 
fastened  on  his,  as  if  locked  in  some  fascinating 
trance.  Neither  of  them  spoke  for  some  moments. 
Martha  could  not  speak  above  a  low  and  tremulous 
whisper,  in  which  she  murmured  his  name,  while  a 
tear  filled  her  eye,  that  she  had  not  strength  to  wipe 
away.  Arthur  was  able  to  utter  but  a  few  words 
before  she  was  again  delirious,  and  her  mother  laid 
her  on  her  pillow,  and  he,  with  the  maiden's  hand 
still  pressed  in  his,  burieJ  up  his  face  in  the  same 
pillow,  and  wept  his  bitter  grief.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Fabens  were  permitted  to  look  upon  the  panting 
sufferer,  and  had  a  stranger  entered,  it  would  have 
troubled  him  to  tell  by  the  tears  that  were  shed. 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  233 

who  were  the  real  parents.  Then  Arthur  and  all 
left  the  room  to  permit  her  a  momentary  sleep,  and 
they  were  informed  that  there  had  been  no  altera- 
tion since  they  wrote,  except,  while  the  fever  raged 
uncontrolled,  and  she  gradually  wasted  like  a  flaring 
candle,  she  had  enjoyed  more  lucid  intervals  for 
the  last  two  days,  and  the  delirium  preceding  her 
present  stupor,  was  the  first  she  had  seen  in  twelve 
hours. 

Mrs.  Sumner  attempted  to  give  the  doctor's  last 
opinion,  and  the  words,  which  choked  her  utterance, 
were  given  with  difficulty  by  her  husband.  There 
was  only  the  slenderest  hope  of  her  life.  In  two 
days  more  the  crisis  would  come,  and  there  might 
be  one  chance  in  ten  for  her  recovery.  To-morrow 
Father  Dilworth  was  expected  again,  and  it  was 
hoped  she  might  rouse  and  be  revived  a  little  in 
mind  and  body,  to  see  him. 

They  had  conversed  on  the  state  of  her  soul. 
She  was  not  a  church  member,  and  had  never  made 
that  formal  profession  of  religion  which  is  required 
of  church  members,  and  Father  Dilworth  was 
asked,  supposing  she  died  delirious,  if  they  might 
hope  she  had  met  with  a  change  of  heart,  and  en- 
tered into  rest. 

"A  change  of  heart?"  said  the  venerable  pastor, 
" and  entered  into  rest?  I  believe  we  must  have  a 
holy  heart  before  we  can  enter  heaven ;  arid  we 
ought  to  have  it  in  this  life,  to  secure  that  hope  for 


234  THE    SACRED    SUPPER. 

the  life  to  come.  But  as  for  that  innocent  girl — 
while  sitting  here,  I  have  looked  back  on  all 
her  life,  and  I  can  remember  no  time  since  she  was 
a  child,  when  she  needed  a  change  of  heart  to  enter 
the  blessed  kingdom.  If  all  were  as  pure  as  Mar- 
tha Sumner,  earth  would  be  heaven,  and  hell  a 
fable." 

He  talked  to  her,  and  had  you  listened,  you 
would  have  thought  you  were  hearing  Dryden's 
Good  Parson,  such  an  unction  of  comfort  flowed 
from  his  anointed  mouth  to  her  soul.  Martha 
could  say  but  little,  she  was  so  troubled  for  breath, 
but  Father  Dilworth  knew  all  was  bright  and  beau- 
tiful before  her.  She  asked  them  to  show  him 
Arthur's  letter,  and  what  he  wrote  of  Father  Love- 
light.  The  old  man  read  it,  and  exclaimed:  "I 
must  confess  his  theory  looks  beautiful ;  and  it  ap- 
peals to  one's  noblest  sentiments.  The  gentleman 
errs,  I  fear,  in  regard  to  the  number  of  the  saved, 
/rejoice  with  all  my  heart  to  believe  God  is  so  good 
as  to  save  all  the  millions  my  faith  includes,  and 
heaven  itself  must  rejoice  the  more,  for  the  more 
led  home  in  holiness  to  its  mansions.  Yet  I  fear — 
I  fear  some  will  never  repent,  to  be  saved.  I  can 
only  say  hope  on,  hope  oh,  you  cannot .  hope  too 
much  good  of  God.  '  If  ye,  being  evil, '  said  the 
Savior,  '  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  to  your 
children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Father  in 
heaven  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him.' 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  235 

"  Judging  others  by  myself,  I  would  not  be  sur- 
prised if-  all  were  disgusted  with  sin  at  last,  and 
would  return  to  God,  and  ask  for  his  spirit ;  but  I  fear 
many  will  repent  too  late ;  notwithstanding,  John 
says,  '  If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to 
forgive  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all  unright- 
eousness,' And  Peter  describes  future  judgment 
even,  as  a  dispensation  which,  however  terrible  to 
sinners,  will  chasten  and  enlighten  them,  and  bring 
them  to  God  at  last,  with  pure  hearts  to  worship. 
He  says :  '  For  this  cause  was  the  gospel  preached 
also  to  them  that  are  dead,  that  they  might  be 
judged  according  to  men  in  the  flesh,  but  live  ac- 
cording to  God  in  the  spirit.'  " 

The  girl,  they  said,  smiled  at  these  words,  as 
if  an  angel  had  lit  on  her  bed,  and  poured  a  mes- 
sage of  heaven  in  her  ear.  She  made  a  request  of 
Father  Dilworth,  and  a  joyful  surprise  filled  the 
house  as  it  was  known.  She  desired  to  be  made  a 
member  of  his  church,  and  partake  of  the  Lord's 
Supper,  and  leave  that  expression  as  the  testimony 
of  her  love  for  Christ.  The  pastor  assured  her  a 
meeting  should  be  called,  and  he  knew  she  would, 
with  tears  of  love,  be  welcomed  as  a  member,  and 
he  would  come  and  bretk  the  bread  of  life  in  her 
chamber.  To-morrow  he  was  expected  to  perform 
that  service. 

That  night  passed  away  as  you  may  well  imagine, 
and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  the   good  shepherd 


236  THE    SACRED    SUPPER. 

found  his  lamb  very  feeble,  but  lucid  and  serene  as 
when  she  had  sung  praises  in  his  choir.  He  assured 
her  she  was  a  welcome  member  of  his  church,  as 
she  had  always  been  of  the  church  of  Christ,  and 
she  should  taste  the  bread  and  wine  of  the  Sacred 
Supper.  The  family  and  friends  filled  the  room, 
and  Sydney  Tyler  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bronk  were 
admitted.  All  were  sadly  serene,  most  were  in 
tears,  and  Mr.  Bronk  wept  freely  with  them. 

Martha  was  bolstered  up  in  the  bed,  and,  after  a 
brief  but  gracious  prayer  and  blessing,  the  bread 
and  wine  were  given  her,  and  offered  around  to  all 
in  the  room.  Father  Dilworth  felt  moved  to  speak 
awhile,  and  Martha  desired  a  hymn ;  but  she  was 
so  exhausted,  all  that  was  omitted;  and,  when 
they  laid  her  again  on  her  23illow,  she  smiled  and 
whispered,  "  Now  I  am  satisfied.  How  sweet,  how 
sweet  this  supper  has  been !     Now  I  am  satisfied." 

All  but  Arthur  and  Mrs.  Sumner  left  the  room, 
and  she  roused  up  and  said,  "  If  I  die,  I  want  my 
Testament  and  Campbell's  Pleasures  of  Hope  to  be 
buried  among  the  flowers  in  my  coffin ;  and  I  want 
a  word  from  every  one  of  you  to  write  on  my  heart, 
and  read  when  I  am  in  heaven."  When  she  had 
rested,  the  words  were  gi-\^n  her,  as  she  could  fix 
them  in  her  memory,  and  she  passed  into  a  placid 
slumber,  from  which  they  felt  she  must  wake  in 
heaven.  Arthur  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
as  if  to  see  how  slumbering  cherubs  look. 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  237 

During  the  season  of  her  sickness,  the  whole 
neighborhood  were  sad  and  anxious  for  her,  and 
constant  inquiries  went  around.  Most  of  the  people 
felt  as  if  part  of  her  belonged  to  each  of  them,  and 
they  would  lose  a  sweet  light  of  life  if  she  died. 
Little  children  inquired  if  their  Martha  might  not 
live,  and  wept,  and  told  when  last  she  hugged  and 
kissed  them.  Billy  Bronk  could  hardly  work. 
Old  Mr.  Golden  ran  to  the  road  every  time  the 
doctor  passed  home,  and  returned  to  his  shop  wash- 
ing streaks  of  coal-dust  from  his  face  with  tears. 
Sydney  Tyler  left  his  willows,  laid  up  his  flute,  and 
moaned  continually,  saying  again  and  again,  how 
happy  she  was  the  other  day,  when  she  led  him  to 
the  fields  and  taught  him  the  song  of  the  Sensitive 
Plant;  and  fearing  it  might  prove  a  prophecy  of 
her  own  end. 

Either  of  a  dozen  young  people  would  have  died 
to  save  the  life  of  Martha  Sumner.  Ophelia  visited 
her  often,  kissed  her  pale  cheek,  and  left  little 
dishes  she  hoped  Martha  might  relish.  Lusia  and 
Diaduma  visited  her  almost  every  day.  Barney 
Bronk  pleaded  to  go  away  to  Rochester  for  Dr. 
Bigelow.  After  Arthur  came,  his  mother  insisted 
on  taking  her  mother's  place  for  a  while,  and  they 
two  took  most  of  the  care  of  her,  turning  away  many 
every  day  who  requested  the  comfort  of  at  least  one 
night's  privilege  of  watching. 

The  night  after  the  communion,  she  called  Mrs. 


238  THE    SACRED    SUPPER. 

Fabens,  and  said  she  thought  she  could  not  live  till 
morning,  and  she  had  one  more  direction  to  leave. 
She  wished  Mrs.  Fabens  would  take  home  her  olean- 
der and  a  tulip-root,  with  a  knit  chair-tidy,  to  Fanny, 
and  kiss  her,  and  say  she  would^love  her  in  heaven ; 
and  her  spirit  would  visit  Summerfield  on  errands 
of  love  and  blessing.  She  wished  Mrs.  Fabens  also 
would  take '  some  of  her  flower-roots,  and  some  of 
her  needle-work  to  remember  her  Martha  by. 

Mrs.  Sumner  asked  her  if  she  continued  to  be 
reconciled  to  God's  will.  She  answered  with  a 
smile  and  word,  and  the  smile  before  the  word  con- 
vinced Mrs.  Sumner  that  she  was  reconciled  to  the 
hand  that  prolonged  her  sufferings. 

"And  you  are  also  reconciled  to  the  thought  of 
death,  I  hope,  my  dear,"  continued  Mrs.  Sumner. 

"  If  I  could  be  unreconciled,"  answered  Martha, 
with  another  smile  of  triumph  that  seemed  to  light 
all  the  chamber,  and  reveal  the  gate  of  heaven  at 
the  door; — "if  I  could  be  unreconciled,  it  would 
not  be  to  death.  O,  no,  no,  no !  sweet  mother !  I 
have  had  such  sights  of  heaven,  it  would  seem 
good,  it  would  seem  pleasant  to  go  to-night,  if  it 
were  not  for  leaving  you  all  behind  to  mourn.  If 
I  could  be  unreconciled,  it  would  be  to  the  thought 
of  remaining  on  earth,  and  I  love  you  all  so  dearly, 
I  would  be  reconciled  to  that." 

Arthur  went  to  the  bed  with  his  mother,  and 
was  so  aflfected  he  wept  aloud.     He  saw  a  change 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  239 

on  her  countenance  which  alarmed  him,  and  he 
cried,  "She  is  dying;  O,  it  is  hard,  it  is  hard,  dear 
Martha,  to  see  you  die !" 

She  opened  her  large  eyes  into  his  face,  and, 
with  a  look  of  cherub  sweetness,  whispered :  "It 
is  not  hard  to  die ;  no !  no !  no !  it  is  not  hard  to 
die ! — O,  if  we  could  go  together — hand  in  hand !" 
She  then  sunk  into  a  swoon,  which  they  feared 
must  certainly  be  her  last ;  and  by  that  time  all  the 
family  were  in  the  room,  and  old  Mr.  Fabens  prayed 
that  the  Lord's  will  might  be  done. 

The  morning  found  her  still  alive,  and  she  whis- 
pered to  Mrs.  Fabens — "  Such  a  beautiful  dream  as 
I  had!  I  was  under  my  pine  trees — a  flock  of 
robins  lit  above  me — and  as  all  began  to  sing,  they 
turned  to  shining  angels,  and  sung,  '  We  will  not 
take  thee  yet — live  long  on  earth — we  will  not  take 
thee  yet !'  O,  what  a  beautiful  dream, — and  such 
singing  I  never  heard  before!" 

She  would  have  called  Arthur  and  whispered 
this  to  him,  but  just  that  moment  her  physician  en- 
tered, expressing  a  fear  that  she  had  been  worried 
by  company  and  talk.  He  bent  over  her  a  few 
moments,  and  they  hoped  they  saw  one  ray  of  com- 
fort on  his  face.  He  carefully  noted  all  her  symp- 
toms, and  found,  that  while  all  were  a  little  more 
favorable,  none  were  any  worse.  Her  countenance 
was  better,  there  were  more  light  and  spirit  in 
her  eye ;    and  she  asked  for  something  palatable 


240  THE    SACRED    SUPPER. 

to  melt  on  her  tongue.  Certainly,  these  were 
excellent  symptoms ;  but  he  feared  it  might  be  too 
early  for  the  crisis,  gave  little  hope,  and  promised 
to  return  in  three  or  four  hours  and  spend  the  day 
with  her. 

The  good  physician  returned,  and  remained 
through  the  day,  and  as  the  sun  was  wheeling  with 
a  long  train  of  glory  behind  the  western  woods,  he 
declared  the  crisis  was  over,  and  by  good  nursing, 
and  God's  help,  their  loved  one  might  recover. 
For  a  moment  Dr.  Pearson  seemed  to  shine  in  an 
angel's  transfiguration!  Martha  appeared  unaf- 
fected by  his  words,  but  the  rest — they  thought  a 
word  all  warm  from  heaven  had  rolled  in  joyful 
syllables  upon  their  ears ! 

The  next  morning  Squire  Fabens  went  home, 
rejoicing  all  the  way.  And,  from  that  hour,  they 
could  see  she  was  convalescent,  though  her  recovery 
was  slow,  and  in  a  life  that  appeared  a  new  crea- 
tion. For  a  long  time  Arthur  and  the  mothers 
handed  her  in  and  out  of  the  bed,  as  one  would  a 
babe,  in  their  arms.  At  length  Mrs.  Fabens  fol- 
lowed her  husband  in  the  stage  coach. 

Arthur  concluded  to  remain  in  Sydney  a  year 
or  two,  contenting  himself  with  a  frequent  visit  to 
Summerfield;  andafter  that  time  determine  whether 
his  business  should  be  remoA^ed.  When  Martha 
was  able  to  journey,  he  took  her  to  Summerfield, 


THE    SACRED    SUPPER.  241 

and  left  her  with  his  parents  to  enjoy  a  fine  visit ; 
and  a  long,  lovely  Indian  Summer,  bland  as  a  June 
morning,  and  blue  as  an  April  sky,  convinced  her 
that  the  township  on  the  Cayuga  was  given  its 
proper  name. 

11 


XVIIL 

JUAN?    OR,    JOSEPH? 

On  Arthur's  return  from  Summerfield,  he  met 
Wellington  Golden,  and  heard  another  story  of 
Banks's  Beer.  Thej  made  a  mistake  in  going  so 
late  in  the  season,  and  though  the  business  pro- 
mised well  at  first,  Wellington  became  discouraged, 
sold  out  to  Jason  at  a  sacrifice,  and  returned  with 
less  than  half  the  money  his  father  needed  to  pay 
his  note.  Jason,  he  knew,  would  make  an  excel- 
lent shift,  for  he  had  opened  a  restaurant  for  the 
winter,  and  all  said  he  would  have  plenty  of  cus- 
tom, while  Wellington  would  write  a  few  months 
for  William  Pitt,  and  board  with  his  sister  Ophelia. 

The  next  week  Jason  returned  in  a  flying  haste, 
saying  briefly  it  was  all  as  his  cousin  reported,  and 
asking  his  father  for  an  indorsement  of  two  hundred 
dollars,  for  money  to  arrange  his  room  in  style,  and 
stock  it  with  confectionary,  etcetera;  and  the  old 
man  was  persuaded  to  accommodate  him,  antici- 
pating the  extensive  business  his   keen-eyed  son 


JUAN?    OR,    JOSEPH?  243 

must  do  another  season,  at  any  rate.  Back  hur- 
ried Jason,  without  hardly  noticing  that  his  useful 
old  mother  still  lived  to  love  him,  and  that  she  kept 
wiping  tears  from  her  eyes,  from  the  time  he  bus- 
tled in,  till  long  after  his  flying  departure. 

On  the  day  Jason  returned  to  Buffalo,  Arthur 
received  letters  from  Martha,  Fanny,  and  his 
mother.  Joy  laughed  all  over  the  letters  of  the 
Fabenses,  and  Martha's  was  cheerful  as  the  morn- 
ing, with  the  chastened  serenity  of  the  starry  night. 
His  mother  gave  him  love  and  joy  from  her  full, 
warm  heart.  Love  lurked  under  all  Fanny's  words, 
and  gleamed  through  her  careless  letters,  like  gold 
through  a  net  purse,  while  she  pretended  to  rally 
him  on  what  he  wrote  about  her  "training,"  in  his 
letter  from  the  lake-shore  to  Martha.  The  latter 
wrote  as  follows,  and  the  breath  of  worship  seemed 
to  rise  from  the  sheet  as  he  read : 

"Beloved  Clinton, 

"I  will  attempt  a  few  words  to  you  this 
morning.  My  hand  still  trembles,  and  my  thoughts 
are  scattering  and  confused.  But  I  caimot  refrain 
from  writing,  I  seem  so  near  you  while  I  am  writing 
to  you,  or  reading  your  letters.  I  gain  strength 
every  day.  This  healing  light  and  air  are  rein- 
stating rosy  health  on  my  cheeks,  while  they  send 
a  rapture  into  all  my  pulses. 


244  JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH? 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  of  half  the  beauties  of  your 
liome.  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  all  that  I  have 
seen  in  nature  and  society  here.  I  love  my  dear 
friends  there  as  no  words  can  tell,  and  my  native 
Sydney  seems  a  part  of  me.  Still,  I  will  not  say 
but  I  might  prefer  to  live  in  Summerfield.  Your 
love  of  domes  and  sj)ires,  I  think,  must  have 
been  planted  in  your  young  boyhood,  when  a  sight 
of  these  woods  and  hills  first  blest  your  eyes. 

"We  went  down  to  the  lake  yesterday,  and  I 
declare  I  never  saw  a  more  lovely  object.  It  far 
surpasses  our  "Wallawanda.  The  shores  are  no 
finer, — how  could  they  ever  bloom  with  such 
beauty  as  our  shores  wear  when  we  hold  the  Feast 
of  May  ?  But  the  lake  itself  is  far  more  beautiful 
than  ours.  What  a  flame  of  flowing  si^lendor  it 
has  been  to-day !  What  j:)ictures  of  the  woods, 
fields,  and  skies  it  painted,  without  a  stack,  or  corn- 
hill,  or  rock,  or  tree,  or  sumac-plume  omitted !  I 
sat  down  where  you  wrote  3'our  letter,  and 
gazed  a  long  Avhile  on  the  lake.  I  gathered 
some  fine  mosses,  and  picked  up  some  pebbles  and 
spiral  shells  on  the  beach,  to  place  in  our  cabinet. 
I  found  a  few  late  flowers  to  press.  I  gathered 
some  beautiful  grasses  and  sumac  berries  for  my 
vases,  and  picked  partridge-berries  and  winter- 
greeny  in  the  woods. 

"  Your  father's  house  is  very  pleasant.  How  de- 
lightful  Fanny   will    have   it   in   the   apartments 


JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH?  245 

finished  off  so  beautifully  for  lier !  I  do  love  that 
good  and  glad-hearted  being,  and  would  like  to  live 
near  her ;  and  your  noble  mother  too.  I  am  read- 
ing my  Testament,  and  Young's  '  Night  Thoughts,' 
which  Father  Dihvorth  gave  me  when  I  left.  The 
'  Night  Thoughts '  are  too  masculine,  and  often  too 
gloomy  for  me;  yet  they  are  very  sublime,  and 
frequently  fill  my  heart  with  transport.  The  pas- 
sage on  Christ's  resurrection  fairl}^  lifted  me  up  to 
heaven,  as  one  of  the  attending  spirits,  and  I  gave 
my  own  shout — 'Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates, 
and  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting  doors,  and  the 
King  of  Glory  shall  come  in !' 

"I  feel  that  I  cannot  be  sufficiently  thankful  to 
God,  for  his  blessings  and  mercies.  But  your 
mother  says  I  must  write  no  more,  lest  I  get  too 
much  fatigued.  My  heart- warm  love  to  my  people, 
and  all  friends,  and  do  not  forget  Sydney  Tyler." 

Martha  Sumner  made  a  long  visit  in  Summer- 
field,  and  every  hour  of  the  time  seemed  a  burst  of 
light  from  heaven.  At  last  George  and  Fanny  took 
their  fine  horses  and  carried  her  home,  making  a 
very  memorable  visit  in  Sydney,  and  returning  in 
joy  for  all  the  delights  they  had  felt  and  seen. 

Before  Martha  went  to  Summerfield,  Arthur  con- 
cluded a  bargain  with  lawyer  Popinjay,  to  build 
him  a  house.  It  was  to  be  a  superb  afiair ;  and  he 
was  to  furnish  most  of  the  materials,  and,  for  a 


246  JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH? 

given  sura,  which  was  liberal,  finish  it  up  to  the 
trowel  of  the  mason.  He  also  resolved  to  com- 
mence a  less  expensive  one  for  himself,  at  the  same 
time,  and  finish  them  nearly  together.  He  set  a 
full  band  of  workmen  on  them,  and  they  were  in- 
closed on  the  last  days  of  a  mild  December. 

He  worked  with  his  joiners  throughout  the  win- 
ter, most  of  the  time  on  the  lawyer's  mansion, 
taking  time  only  to  finish  a  kitchen  and  dining- 
room  in  his  own  house,  and  prepare  two  bedrooms 
for  the  masons. 

William  Pitt  would  have  been  more  highly 
pleased  to  locate  his  residence  in  Hampden,  but 
there  were  eloquent  lawyers  there,  and  Hampden 
society  carried  a  very  lofty  standard ;  and,  knowing 
he  would  be  a  much  larger  man  in  a  more  rural 
place,  he  located  his  grounds  and  reared  his  resi- 
dence in  Sydney.  Arthur's  estate  was  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street,  a  few  rods  south,  on  a  rise 
of  ground  that  seemed  to  look  down  with  scorn 
upon  the  lower  land  of  the  lawyer,  although  it  was 
smaller  by  five  acres. 

Some  suspected  that  William  was  not  extremely 
pleased  with  the  idea  of  such  a  rivalsliip  from  a 
"carpenter,"  even  if  Arthur  was  obliged  to  build  a 
smaller  house ;  but  it  was  generally  thouglit  Arthur 
was  building  to  sell  again,  since  they  could  hardly 
suppose  he  would  keep  himself  long  from  his  late- 
found  home  in  Summerfield. 


JUAN?     OR,    JOSEPH?  247 

But  since  it  was  a  well  authenticated  fact  with 
the  lawyer,  that  Arthur  was  well-born,  and  had  a 
father  who  could  do  a  fair  thing  for  his  only  son, 
he  changed  his  manner  toward  him,  and  treated 
him  with  familiar  courtesy.  While  his  mansion 
was  being  built,  he  was  often  in,  counseling  and  plan- 
ning with  his  architect,  and  holding  an  intercourse 
that  appeared  fast  ripening  into  friendship.  Ophelia 
too  was  free  in  very  friendly  manners,  and  Arthur 
was  encouraged  to  hope  she  would  make  a  woman 
of  good  principles  and  very  tolerable  mind.  The 
lawyer  and  his  lady  visited  George  and  Fanny 
Ludlow,  at  Mrs.  Sumner's,  and  while  Fanny  could 
scarcely  restrain  an  amusing  leer  at  the  lofty  ways 
of  the  gentleman,  she  was  really  pleased  with 
Ophelia,  thinking  it  was  true  as  they  all  said,  that 
she  had  outgrown  many  little  follies  of  her  girl- 
hood. 

William  expressed  himself  more  and  more  de- 
lighted with  his  house,  and  declared  he  would  make 
a  grand  party  to  warm  its  beautiful  rooms,  when 
finished,  and  Arthur's  friends  should  come  from 
Summerfield  to  attend  it.  Ophelia  called  in  often 
alone  to  see  how  the  elegant  work  went  on,  and 
lingered  and  conversed  with  Arthur,  sometimes,  as 
he  said,  on  his  history,  and  sometimes  on  the  orders 
and  figures  of  architecture,  which  he  loved  to  de- 
scribe and  explain. 

Then,  when  Martha  happened  to  be  over,  they 


248  JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH? 

all  visited  her  growing  home,  and  joked  her  about 
the  time  it  was  hoped  she  might  enter  as  its  mis- 
tiness. The  intercourse  which  Arthur  and  Martha 
enjoyed  through  the  winter,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Popinjay,  was  truly  agreeable,  and  they  felt  no  re- 
gret iu  the  thought  of  having  them  for  neighbors, 
if  they  should  remain  for  any  time  to  occupy  their 
pleasant  Sydney  home. 

The  lawyer's  house  was  finished,  and  it  was  a 
beautiful  piece  of  work.  There  were  far  costlier 
houses  in  Hampden,  it  was  true,  and  houses  of 
gayer  and  more  elaborate  architecture,  but  there 
were  few  that  affected  the  eye  more  pleasantly. 
The  form  of  the  house,  with  its  two  fine  wings,  was 
symmetry  itself;  and  to  gaze  upon  it,  your  senses 
were  not  more  refreshed  with  its  perfect  and  classi- 
cal simplicity,  than  feasted  by  its  affluent  taste  and 
trim.  It  reproduced  the  beauty  and  spirit  of  Athens, 
in  a  rural  township  of  a  youthfiil  state,  beyond 
where  Plato's  green  Atlantis  bloomed. 

Every  thing  about  it  was  extremely  convenient, 
and  comfortable  withal,  and  more  than  one  declared 
it  would  be  their  own  fault  if  William  and  Ophelia 
did  not  take  a  world  of  comfort  there.  Many  called 
in  to  see  it,  and  went  away  flattering  the  talent  of 
the  Builder.  Mrs.  Golden  called  again  and  again, 
and  almost  wished  she  might  be  a  widow,  and 
homeless,  and  live  with  Ophelia,  and  direct  her  in 
the  charge  of  her  opulent  home.     When  it  was  all 


JUAN?     OR,    JOSEPH?  249 

finished  and  swept,  Mr.  Golden  was  conducted 
through  its  echoing  halls,  and  he  was  startled  with 
fright  at  the  thump,  thump,  thump,  of  his  clouted 
shoes,  and  slunk  into  a  seat  in  the  last  parlor,  ab« 
solutelj  abashed  by  the  beauty  he  beheld,  and 
mortified,  for  his  baize  jacket,  leathern  breeches, 
and  warty  skin. 

The  doors  were  opened  to  the  masons ;  and  Ar- 
thur finished  his  own  house.  His,  too,  was  elegant 
enough  for  anybody.  It  was  quite  inferior  to 
Popinjay's,  in  size  and  style ;  it  cost  far  less ;  but 
for  the  amount  it  cost,  it  was  certainly  a  superb 
building.  It  was  good  enough  for  any  man.  It 
had  a  look  of  modest  sweetness,  a  spontaneity  of 
grace  and  gladness  about  it,  which  well  became  the 
gentle  being  who  would  enter  its  pleasant  door, 
with  a  love  of  God  and  nature  in  her  heart.  Mar- 
tha wondered  how  Arthur  could  so  flatter  all  her 
tastes,  and  Billy  Bronk  declared,  "he  would  have 
named  the  house  Patty  Sumner,  had  he  threw  the 
bottle  at  the  raisin'."  Every  thing  about  the  house 
and  grounds  was  so  pleasant  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Fabens  came  and  saw  it  in  the  spring,  they  had 
new  fears  that  Arthur  would  be  tempted  to  live  too 
long  in  Sydney. 

When  Arthur's  house  was  left  to  the  masons,  the 

lawyer's  house  was  finished,  and  with  Duma  Truck 

for  servant,  and  her  mother  for  counsel,  Ophelia 

completed  the  arrangement  of  her  furniture,  and  they 
11* 


250  JUAN?    OR,    JOSEPH? 

set  their  family  table,  commenced  a  large  style  of 
living,  and  talked  of  the  promised  party.  A  week 
passed  away,  and  William  Pitt  appeared  to  dread 
quitting  the  pleasures  of  his  house,  for  the  drudgery 
of  his  office,  while  Mrs.  Golden  was  there  at  almost 
every  tea,  in  her  proudest  apparel;  and  Dumie 
congratulated  herself  on  being  the  maid  of  that 
mansion,  rather  than  the  wife  of  the  widower  in 
Livonia,  who  bewitched  her  with  the  blissful  thought 
of  mothering  his  eight  children,  and  then  ran  off 
and  married  a  younger  and  handsomer  girl. 

When  the  furniture  was  arranged  to  Mrs.  Gol- 
den's  liking,  one  afternoon,  Arthur  Sumner  was 
seen  to  enter  there.  He  was  seen  to  knock  twice 
at  the  door,  heard  to  inquire  if  William  Pitt  was 
home,  and  to  be  informed  by  Ophelia  that  she  sup- 
posed he  was  at  a  neighbor's  near  by,  while  he  was 
cordially  invited  in.  The  person  who  saw  and 
heard  this,  passed  along  without  witnessing  any 
thing  more ;  when  William  Pitt,  who  declared  he 
had  long  suspected  evil,  appeared  from  the  cellar 
with  his  hired  man,  and  rushing  up  to  a  fine  cham- 
ber, burst  open  the  door,  surprising  Ophelia  with 
her  friendly  guest. 

"You  infernal  villain,  I  have  caught  you!"  he 
cried,  and  Ophelia  screamed  and  sunk  back  into  a 
chair,  while  Arthur  stood  speechless,  and  looked  as 
if  petrified  to  marble.  "  For  this  you  enter  my 
paradise  of  innocence,  you  second  Juan,  do  }'ou? 


JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH?  251 

You  had  better  whiten  and  hold  your  tongue,  jou 
Satan  in  Eden !  I  have  caught  you  in  your  devil- 
ment !" 

"  I  have  been  caught  in  a  devil's  net,"  answered 
Arthur,  now  able  to  speak,  "and  your  Eden  is 
none  the  less  pure  for  my  standing  here.  Call  me 
Joseph,  and  not  Juan,  for  I  have  done  your  wife 
no  dishonor." 

*' You  incarnate  lie !  what  do  you  mean?  Ah! 
what  do  you  mean  ?  Hustle  him  out  of  this,  aha ! 
hustle  him  out  of  this,  Mike ;  kick  the  curse  down 
stairs,  and  into  the  streets,  and  I'll  have  him  know 
that  pricking  thorns  grew  under  his  bed  of  roses !" 

Mike  laid  his  great  hands  on  Arthur's  collar,  and 
jerked  him  from  the  room;  when  he  cried — "I 
say!"  and — "I  say!"  interrupted  the  raging  hus- 
band; and — "I  say!"  interrupted  Arthur;  and — 
"  I  say,  along,  along  my  buck !"  bellowed  Mike  ; — 
and — "  I  say,  drag  the  snake  to  the  street,  and  snap 
his  infernal  head  off!"  shouted  the  lawyer;  and, 
while  they  were  still  in  hearing,  he  turned  to  Ophe- 
lia, and  said :  "  This  indeed  is  a  pretty  fix  for  you ! 
Hide  your  shame,  and  think  how  you  have  paid 
my  love,  and  into  what  a  hell  you  have  turned  my 
blissful  heaven  !"  While  "  O  dear !  0 !— 0 !— O !" 
groaned  Ophelia,  and  Mike  dragged  Arthur  down 
stairs,  and  set  his  course  for  Mr.  Sumner's. 

This  was  indeed  a  very  sad  disclosure,  to  follow 
in  the  steps  of  so  much  triumph  and  honor,  and  it 


252  .JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH? 

must  have  wrenclied  liis  heart,  as  if  breaking  it 
on  a  wheel,  whether  innocent  or  guilty.  Guilty? 
How  could  guilt  find  a  lodging  in  a  breast  which 
all  had  regarded  the  temple  of  purity  and  honor  ? 
Innocent  ?  What  face  coidd  he  have  to  protest  his 
innocence  ?  what  chance  or  courage  to  attempt  its 
proof? 

Up  to  that  hour  his  character  had  been  good,  not 
a  fleck  of  dishonor  had  sullied  it.  But  how  far 
would  that  go  to  vindicate  him  now?  He  had 
been  seen  to  enter  after  being  informed  that  the 
husband  was  away.  He  had  been  suspected,  fol- 
lowed, found  in  the  chamber  alone  with  William's 
wife. 

He  went  directly  to  Mr.  Sumner,  and  told  his 
side  of  the  story.  He  was  pale  and  trembling,  yet 
he  must  have  been  either  a  flint-hearted  villain,  or 
an  innocent  man,  to  appear  with  that  utter  freedom 
from  shame  in  which  he  stood  before  Mr.  Sumner. 
Mr.  Sumner  believed  his  story,  and  it  was  repeated 
in  the  house  before  Martha  and  her  mother  ;  and, 
while  agony  glared  on  each  ghastly  face,  they  all 
believed  him  innocent. 

But  there  was  all  of  the  other  side  open  to  be 
told,  open  to  be  proved  on  evidence,  and  that  story 
flew  around  as  if  the  winds  had  carried  it.  Nor 
did  it  end  "  as  a  tale  that  is  told."  That  very  night 
fast  riders  appeared  at  the  gate ;  stern  ofiS.cers  thun- 
dered into  tlie  house,  and  Ai'thur  Sumner  was  ar- 


JUAN?     O  E ,     JOSEPH?  253 

rested  and  lodged  in  jail  as  a  criminal.  Mr.  Sum- 
ner insisted  on  going  along,  and  as  the  key  was 
turned  on  tlie  prisoner,  he  begged  Mr,  Sumner  and 
all  to  keep  it  from  his  friends  in  Summerfield.  The 
next  week  he  was  examined,  and  it  appearing  that 
Mrs.  Popinjay  had  often  visited  him  at  his  work 
during  the  winter,  received  such  attention  from  him 
as  to  excite  her  husband's  suspicion,  and  at  last 
was  discovered  with  him  in  her  chamber,  the  pri- 
soner was  bound  over  for  trial,  with  bonds  so 
heavy  he  would  have  been  remanded  to  prison,  had 
not  Mr.  Sumner  and  other  friends  stepped  forward, 
unsolicited,  and  taken  the  bonds,  and  led  him  away 
in  liberty. 

"Whatever  might  be  Arthur's  story,  the  evidence 
was  against  him,  and  he  could  hope  but  little  from 
the  speech  of  people,  and  less  from  the  law.  If  he 
were  innocent,  it  must  be  believed  by  those  who 
confided  entirely  in  his  former  character,  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  protested  innocence.  But,  in- 
nocent or  guilty,  his  character  was  dearer  to  him 
than  the  tender  apple  of  his  eye,  dearer  than  sweet 
life  itself;  every  touch  upon  that  character,  hurt 
like  having  his  flesh  torn  with  pincers ;  and  when 
I  cannot  name  that  rending  anguish,  how  shall  I 
attempt  to  describe  the  pangs  that  Avould  be  added 
if  the  news  reached  Summerfield  ? 

The  story  was  on  all  tongues,  and  got  into  the 
papers,  with  only  the  suppression  of  names,  which 


254  JUAN?    OR,     JOSEPH? 

were  promised  soon  to  be  given  to  the  public.  Tbe 
man,  Mike,  seemed  to  enjoy  ubiquity,  to  furnish 
fresh  and  first-hand  facts  for  everybody,  "What  he 
actually  saw,  might  have  been  bad  enough  to  tell, 
but  greedy  gossip  was  not  long  satisfied  with  that, 
nor  was  tip-toe  curiosity  content  with  what  she 
teazed  to  hear.  Hundreds  must  tell  it,  with  swell- 
ing additions,  and  swear  Mike  Lakeman  told  them 
so.  "^ 

Ophelia  went  home  to  her  mother's  in  dejection ; 
and,  while  her  pitying  mother  laid  all  the  blame  on 
the  Builder,  her  father  was  agitated  by  shame,  com- 
passion and  indignation,  and,  getting  on  a  strange 
boldness  for  him,  he  told  William  Pitt  to  his  teeth, 
to  divorce  her  if  he  chose,  but  she  and  Arthur  had 
good  enough  still  left  in  their  souls,  if  weighed 
against  his,  to  make  him  kick  the  beam  like  a  sack 
of  wormy  feathers. 

Wellington  was  the  mustachioed  blade  who  took 
out  his  fragrant  Havana,  and  spit,  to  swear  he  would 
shoot  the  offender.  Dr.  Waxwood  hung  his  chat- 
tering and  chuckling  leer  on  the  archest  conch-shell 
nose,  on  the  j oiliest  eyes,  and  the  widest,  lecherous 
lips,  and  said  in  the  stores  and  taverns,  '■''  Donh  kill 
the  poor  carpenter,  don't  kill  him ;  /  cannot  say  that 
/blame  him." 

Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood  entreated  everybody  now  for 
pity's  sake  to  cease  joking  Lusia  about  Arthur  Sum- 
ner, for  she  always  did  detest  the  fellow.     Diaduma 


JUAN?     OR,     JOSEPH?  255 

Truck  kindled  with  a  flame  of  triumph,  and  jumped 
for  very  joy,  to  think  she  never  married  him.  But 
poor  Mrs.  Tyler  was  brought  down  almost  to 
her  grave  by  the  trouble  which  it  gave  her.  She 
could  not  for  one  moment  think  Arthur  was  guilty, 
though  Mrs.  Dr.  Waxwood  reproached  her  with 
wilful  unbelief.  But  she  grieved  in  sympathy  with 
him ;  grieved  for  his  injured  character  and  peace, 
and  kept  exclaiming,  at  her  loom  and  wheel,  "  What 
a  pity  for  him  now,  he  has  just  found  his  home,  and 
begins  to  prosper  and  take  comfort!" 

Sydney  contended  with  all,  that  it  was  impossible 
for  Arthur  to  have  committed  the  least  impropriety, 
while  he  suffered  even  more  than  his  friend,  from 
the  aspersions  cast  upon  his  excellent  name. 

Billy  Bronk  cried  "  Sodom !"  and  declared  he 
knew  there  must  be  monkery  somewhere,  but  the 
lying  lawyer  had  the  ship  in  his  hands,  and  he  would 
run  Arthur  on  a  reef.  Father  Dilworth  shook  his 
head,  not  knowing  positively  what  to  think  of  the 
testimony  against  Sumner,  while  he  relied  too 
much  on  the  young  man's  character  to  judge  him 
guilty  till  a  court  of  justice  might  pronounce  him 
so.  Mrs.  Dilworth,  being  the  minister's  wife,  had 
no  right  to  a  woman's  opinion,  and  she  was  coun- 
seled, by  one  or  two,  not  to  express  an  opinion, 
for  fear  it  might  disturb  the  harmony  of  the  church ; 
but  she  assumed  a  bold  independence,  and  defended 
Arthur  everywhere.     Some  called  Ophelia  a  minx, 


256  JUAX?     OR,     JOSEPH? 

and  others,  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  testimony,  de- 
nounced her  raging  husband. 

Arthur  was  to  have  been  married  in  about  a 
month  to  Martha  Sumner.  She  was  ready  as  ever 
to  marry  him.  Her  parents  and  brother  were  will- 
ing, and,  since  it  was  so,  they  all  hoped  they  might 
console  their  own  hearts  by  this  consummation. 
But  Arthur  said,  "  No !  put  it  off  a  year  at  least, 
and  see  the  end  of  the  lawsuit."  They  knew  that 
would  make  no  difference  with  the  public,  and  it 
must  go  against  him.  His  attorney  gave  him  little 
hope,  and  asked  him  questions  that  seemed  the 
dividing  asunder  of  body  and  soul.  They  would 
leave  it  with  Arthur  to  set  the  marriage  day ;  at 
the  same  time  they  begged  him  to  permit  them  to 
show  a  little  devotion,  and  not  postpone  it  on  their 
account. 

He  declared  he  would  not  be  married  Avith  such 
foul  blots  on  his  name.  Martha  replied,  that  if  she 
believed  him  guilty,  for  the  honor  of  her  sex,  she 
would  have  cast  him  like  a  serpent  from  her ;  but 
believing  him  innocent,  she  cared  nothing  for  what 
the  world  said  and  did,  except  so  far  as  they  might 
ruffle  his  peace;  she  would  love  him  still,  and 
stand  to  him  for  character,  honor,  society  and  all, 
of  v/hich  they  might  bereave  him. 

"0,  you  good,  good   girl!  I  know  you  will!" 

isaid  Arthur,  shedding  his  first  tears,  quite  overcome 

by  her  comfortings ;  "  I  know,  I  know  you  will, 


J  IT  AN?     OR,     JOSEPH?  257 

and  God  will  bless  your  devotion  if  I  never  do, 
I, — 0,  I  cannot  talk  now,  you  touch  me  in  a  tender 
place,  and  I  must  play  the  baby ! — But  God  will 
bless  your  devotion,  while  I  cannot  comply  with 
your  wish," 

Whether  from  the  papers,  or  from  some  secret 
letter,  it  was  not  generally  known,  but  the  news 
went  to  Summerfield,  and  Arthur's  father  and 
mother  came,  and  he  cried,  "In  the  ear  of  Heaven, 
I  declare  my  innocence !"  and  fell,  weeping,  in  his 
mother's  arms. 


XIX. 

SPRING     BIRDS; 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fabens  mingled  their  tears  in  the 
tenderest  sympathy  with  Arthur's,  and  as  they  were 
impatient  to  hear  his  story,  Mr.  Sumner  told  it  for 
him,  declaring  that  most  of  his  friends  were  persuaded 
by  their  faith  in  him  to  believe  it.  Then  Arthur 
himself  repeated  it,  adding  minute  particulars,  and 
such  a  spirit  of  manliness  did  he  breathe,  and  such 
a  glow  of  innocence  opened  and  kindled  his  face, 
they  retired  with  comfort  to  their  bed. 

And  such  was  their  bearing  toward  him  after 
that,  and  such  the  devotion  of  all  his  other 
friends,  his  strength  and  heart  returned  every  day, 
like  sweet  sj)ring  mornings  after  a  winter  of  gloom, 
and  he  bore  himself  bravely.  He  had  never  seen 
an  angel,  and  knew  not  the  sweetness  of  their 
smiles,  or  the  splendor  of  their  beauty ;  but  he  felt 
if  ever  they  walked  this  wicked  earth,  those  friends 
must  be  angels,  ranging  around  him  and  holding 
up  his  hands. 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS.  269 

He  knew  lie  would  have  done  for  either  of  them, 
in  a  change  of  circumstances,  what  they  did  for  him, 
but  a  sense  of  their  goodness  affected  him  even 
more  than  the  hardest  hitting  censure  of  a  foe,  and 
he  thought  nobody  ever  looked  so  beautiful  as  they 
now  did.  He  wanted  to  embrace  them,  and  weep 
himself  away  in  thanks  on  their  necks. 

He  lost  no  friend  of  value  by  the  manner  he 
spoke  of  the  lawyer  and  his  family.  One  or  two, 
it  is  true,  were  a  little  mortified  by  his  apparent 
lack  of  spirit,  and  others  sneered,  and  said  they 
were  now  convinced  of  his  guilt,  for  his  tameness 
was  not  the  manner  of  an  innocent  man.  For 
Ophelia,  he  expressed  nothing  but  grief  and  pity. 
The  man,  Mike  Lakeman,  he  declared  beneath  his 
scorn.  Toward  William  Pitt  he  remained  indig- 
nant, covering  him  with  all  the  blame. 

For  Wellington  Golden  he  cared  so  little,  when 
that  swaggering  blade  threw  down  a  cigar  one  day, 
and  held  a  pistol  to  Arthur's  breast,  commanding 
him  to  prepare  for  death,  he  opened  his  bosom  and 
declared  his  preparation  with  such  a  bold  voice  and 
gentle  mien,  the  hand  dropped  down,  the  pistol  fell 
on  the  ground,  and  the  insolent  gallant  quivered 
and  reeled  with  the  weakness  of  a  baby. 

But  for  Martha  Sumner,  how  could  he  express 
the  love  and  gratitude  that  filled  his  soul  ?  If  Billy 
Bronk  looked  beautiful  now,  and  seemed  an  angel 
of  goodness,  how  must  Martha  have  appeared  in 


260  SPRING     BIEDS; 

all  her  loveliness  of  face  and  form,  in  all  her 
heavenly  excellence  of  being,  as  she  covered  him 
with  a  shield  of  sympathy  less  vulnerable  than  the 
armor  of  Achilles? 

And  Sydney  Tyler — his  dear  blind  brother,  as 
he  called  him — how  his  heart  yearned  toward  him 
in  the  strong  responses  of  the  dearest,  delicious 
sympathy,  and  how  he  longed  to  give  Sydney  sight 
and  a  fortune,  for  his  loyal  constancy  and  love ! 

And  to  Fanny  Ludlow,  how  could  he  tell  the 
gratitude  he  felt  for  a  letter,  in  which  she  said — 
"Faint  not,  my  dear  brother,  in  this  trial.  God 
still  lives  in  heaven.  He  knows  all  that  is  going  on 
here.  He  hears  every  voice  that  speaks,  and  not  a 
groan  arises  from  a  prison  or  a  sick  chamber,  not  a 
prayer  goes  up,  but  He  hears  and  regards  it  on  His 
throne.  His  eye  is  on  you,  and  He  will  hold  you 
in  His  heart.  He  has  angels  engaged  on  behalf  of 
the  innocent.  His  eye  is  on  your  enemies  now,  and 
you  need  not  fear  that  they  may  harm  you. 

"Are  you  not  too  sensitive  about  your  reputa- 
tion ?  What  if  the  evil  do  defame  you,  as  long  as 
3^ou  are  innocent,  what  have  you  to  lose  or  fear? 
The  poisoned  arrows  cannot  pierce  the  buckler  of 
your  virtue.  Do  you  not  remember  what  I  read  to 
you  from  Comus,  in  one  of  our  woodland  walks  ? 
How  '  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity '  ?  how 
many  '  liveried  angels  lackey  her'  ?  and  how  Virtue 
teaches  one  '  to  climb '  above  this  troubled  sphere  ? 


AND    SKOW    BIRDS.  261 

*  Or  if  Virtue  feeble  were, 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her.' 

"  What  if  your  enemies  triumph  so  far  as  to  turn 
against  you  some  who  have  professed  to  be  your 
friends  ?  You  can  lose  nothing  in  the  end.  While 
you  had  every  reason  to  expect  a  few  would  forsake 
you — a  few  whose  friendship  is  too  weak  to  be 
tested — hundreds  will  learn,  for  the  first  time,  who 
you  are,  and  many  warm  hearts,  I  dare  say,  will 
rally  in  your  defense ;  many  new  sympathies  enlist 
on  your  side,  to  share  your  trials  and  support  your 
spirit,  where  you  have  expected  to  remain  a  stran- 
ger, unregarded.  Come  to  Summerfield,  and  we 
will  lock  you  in  a  fortress  of  the  fondest  hearts, 
while  I  clothe  you  warmly  with  a  sister's  love. 

"We  have  constancy  here,  as  you  have  there. 
My  blue  birds  sometimes  close  their  songs,  and  flit, 
if  a  cloud  appears.  My  robins  and  sparrows  are 
often  aAvay  in  the  night,  and  my  cherry  trees  are 
lonely  in  their  absence.  We  have  hardly  a  spring 
or  summer  bird  that  does  not  desert  us  before  the 
first  breath  of  winter  succeeds  the  first  cloud  of 
autumn.  But  even  in  winter  we  are  not  left  alone. 
The  little  trooping  snow-birds  come  on  the  wildest 
winds  to  cheer  us  ;  and  if  you  will  come  and  live 
here,  while  the  summer-birds  of  friendship  even 
will  cheer  a  long  season  with  their  songs,  the  snow- 
birds of  love  will  visit  you  in  the  roaring  storms 
of  sorrow,  and  in  flocks,  like  the  snow  flakes,  chirp 


262  SPRING  birds; 

and  twitter  their  sweet  comfort  and  joy  about  the 
door  of  your  heart." 

And  how  shall  I  describe  the  new  strength  and 
courage  that  ran  along  his  nerves,  as  dear  old  Billy 
Bronk  one  day  exclaimed:  '■^Don^t  mind  what  the 
sculpins  do,  my  noble  Arthur!  don't  mind  the 
wfernal  sculpins !  Sodom !  do  you  think  you  can 
please  evet-y  body  ?  The  Lord  of  Heaven  don't 
please  every  body.  If  He  did,  while  many  are  so 
wicked,  I  should  fear  He  had  His  streaks  of  evil 
too !  But  even  He  donH  please  every  body ;  and 
can  you  expect  less  enemies  accordin'  to  your  lot  ?" 

But  such  was  the  testimony  now  ready  to  be 
given  against  him,  he  expected  to  be  defeated  on 
his  trial.  His  own  lawyer  looked  long,  and  advised 
him  by  all  means  to  settle  it  if  he  could.  That^  Ar- 
thur thought,  would  be  tantamount  to  a  confession  of 
guilt,  and  yet  what  must  that  character  be  worth 
which  could  not  sustain  itself  out  of  a  court  of  jus- 
tice? which  could  not  outlive  a  lawsuit? 

His  father  and  friends  advised  him  to  settle  it, 
and  hope  that  God  himself  would  right  him  very 
soon.  But  would  the  plaintiff  consent  to  a  settle- 
ment ?  Yes ;  his  associate  counsel  assured  Arthur's 
lawyer  that  "they  would  do  what  was  right  with 
the  fellow,  without  taking  it  to  court.  Becoming 
more  calm  in  their  indignation,  they  felt  a  compas- 
sion that  would  not  willingly  tram^^le  him  down  to 
the  dust." 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS.  263 

Such  words  roused  up  his  manhood,  and  tingled 
his  ears  with  indignation,  but  he  must  expect  to 
bear  them  for  the  present,  and  suppress  his  angered 
heart.  What  terms  did  they  offer  ?  The  amount 
due  Arthur  for  building  Popinjay's  house.  The 
\yhole  amount  ?  Ay.  But  how  much  had  he  been 
paid  ?  Not  the  first  hundred  dollars,  though  Ar- 
thur furnished  nearly  all.  The  money  was  due 
when  the  house  was  done,  and  that  was  a  large  sum 
for  any  man  to  lose.  Arthur  dropped  his  head,  and 
groaned  at  the  reply. 

Then  his  father  advised  him  to  accept  the  terms, 
outrageous  as  they  were,  and  escape  from  the  snare 
of  the  fiend.  He  was  innocent,  and  God  would 
make  up  the  loss  in  some  good  way.  His  father 
could  do  a  great  deal  for  him,  and  would  rejoice  in 
doing  it.  But  Arthur  was  too  independent  to  ac- 
cept more  than  his  sympathy  now. 

"  I  will  not  take  one  cent  of  your  money,  father," 
said  he  ;  "I  will  rot  in  jail  before  I  will  do  it.  You 
have  come  by  your  money  by  too  many  hard 
knocks,  to  part  with  it  in  this  way.  After  being 
mourned  so  many  years  as  lost,  I  will  not  come 
back  to  you  mortgaged,  or  to  be  mortgaged.  1 
have  a  little  too  much  of  your  own  blood  in  me  for 
that,  thank  God !" 

"  If  you  will  not  allow  me  this  little  comfort,  I 
will  abandon  you,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  I  cannot  yield  this  point,  and  you  must  not  de- 


264  SPRING  birds; 

mand  it,"  said  Arthur.  "I  have  too  proud  a  soul 
to  suffer  myself  to  f\ill  on  my  father  for  money  to 
help  me  out  of  trouble  of  this  kind.  If  I  take  any 
more  from  you,  let  it  be  by-and-by,  when  this  storm 
is  over.  Then  it  will  do  me  some  good.  But  do 
not  press  it  upon  me  now ;  I  should  feel  guilty  as  a 
culprit  to  take  it." 

"  But  how  can  you  get  along  alone  ?  You  must 
owe  something  yet  for  your  outlays  on  his  house," 
said  the  Squire. 

"I  know  just  how  I  stand,"  said  Arthur.  "It 
will  take  away  my  last  dollar ;  but  I  can  come  off 
free  and  clear.  A  man  has  been  trying  to  buy  my 
real  estate — which  I  got  at  a  great  bargain,  and  which 
has  risen  on  m}'  hands ; — he  offers  a  good  price  ;  I 
will  sell  it  to  him,  and,  getting  all  my  money  down, 
in  addition  to  what  I  have  beside,  I  will  pay  Pitt's 
demand,  and  every  other  cent  I  owe.  Let  it  all  go ; 
I  do  not  care.  Money  cannot  make  or  unmake  a 
man.  There  are  many,  I  know,  who  think  it  does. 
There  are  many  who  think  their  blood  is  enriched 
and  their  families  ennobled  by  wealth !  Father, 
there  are  some  people  here  in  Sydney,  who  would 
have  nobody  go  up  to  heaven  who  is  too  poor  to 
ascend  the  skies  in  a  golden  chariot.  And  they 
expect  to  enjoy  select  society  there,  and  live  in 
golden  palaces,  and  wear  golden  crowns,  and  walk 
golden  streets,  and  play  on  golden  harps,  above 
the  commonality  of  redeemed  spirits. 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS.  265 

"  This  robber,  Popinja}'',  is  a  saint  on  the  calendar 
of  such  a  religion,  and  let  him  take  the  money,  and 
welcome  to  all  the  good  he  can  get  from  it,  while 
I  may  be  earning  more.  A  plenty  of  honorable 
business  is  offered  me." 

*'  Well,  but  you  must  not  bear  it  all  so !"  said  the 
Squire,  while  the  big  tears  filled  his  eyes  and  grief 
interrupted  his  words.  "  I  admire  your  indepen- 
dence ;  I  am  proud  of  such  a  son.  But  you  must 
let  me  help  you  a  little.  Come,  I  have  a  hundred 
or  two  that  burns  my  pocket,  and  you  must  relieve 
me  of  it.  What  is  a  father  good  for,  if  he  cannot 
do  a  little  for  his  children  now  and  then  ?  Your 
mother  and  sister — " 

"  I  cannot  help  what  you  feel,"  answered  Arthur, 
"  I  must  disobey  yon  now.  I  must  have  my  own 
way  in  this,  or  shame  and  grief  will  kill  me." 

And  Arthur  had  his  way ;  and  he  made  his  old 
father  and  mother  sad,  while  they  could  but  ad- 
mire and  honor  the  3'oung  man  for  his  manly  inde- 
pendence. The  settlement  was  made,  and  the 
bonds  were  canceled.  Then  Arthur  sold  his  house 
and  grounds,  paid  every  dollar  he  owed,  and  had 
five  dollars  left  in  his  pocket  to  begin  in  the  world 
again. 

Parting  with  that  home,  whose  joys  he  had  tasted 

in  so  many  dear  anticipations,  was  another  stroke 

of  cruel  fortune.     He   and   Martha  grieved  like 

children,  Avhen  they  went  to  give  it  farewell ;  and 
12 


266  SPRING   birds; 

it  was  no  comfort  to  be  told  that  Martha  might  take 
her  own  briar-rose  from  the  bedroom  window,  lier 
honeysuckle  from  the  door,  and  her  tulips  from  the 
garden.  But  before  they  gained  her  father's  house, 
her  sunny  smiles  returned,  and  she  said,  "Arthur, 
never  mind,  they  cannot  rob  us  of  each  other. — 
They  cannot  take  love  or  peace  from  our  hearts ; 
and  your  intelligence  and  skill  as  a  builder,  are 
worth  more  than  Pitt  will  ever  possess.  I  feel  so 
proud  of  your  talents  and  vocation!  and  I  will 
go  with  you  to  Sumraerfield." 

"I  cannot  go  now,"  answered  Arthur.  "They 
would  certainly  tear  down  my  fair  temple  of 
honor,  if  I  should  go  away  now,  I  will  stay 
here  a  year  or  two,  and  see  if  I  may  not  live  down 
their  scandal ;  and  you  pray  God  to  help  me." 

The  next  da}^  after  the  settlement.  Lawyer  Hun- 
tington, of  Hampden,  heard  of  the  affair,  and,  un- 
aware of  the  former  ^y's  proceedings,  he  came  and 
introduced  himself  to  Arthur,  and  tendered  him 
his  counsel.  In  talent  and  in  character,  he  was  a 
splendid  man ;  and  Arthur  was  surprised  with 
himself  that  he  had  not  employed  him  in  the  first 
place.  Lawyer  Huntington's  ample  heart  was  brim 
full  of  feeling  for  the  injured;  his  acute  mind  was 
keen  as  a  beagle  on  a  scent  of  truth,  and  he  had 
not  heard  Arthur's  story  through  before  he  was 
confirmed  in  the  belief  of  his  innocence.  He  was 
indignant  toward  Popinjay,  and  almost  mad  with 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS.  267 

Arthur  and  his  counselors,  for  yielding  a  dollar  in 
the  settlement. 

"  What  if  they  did  bluster  about  so  much  testi- 
mony?" he  asked.  "I  believe  I  could  have  un- 
raveled their  conspiracy  and  scattered  its  torn  frag- 
ments to  the  winds.  And  would  I  not  love  to  do 
such  a  work  without  a  fee  ?  Consider  the  suspi- 
cious circumstances !  That  very  bustle  and  bluster 
were  suspicious.  The  innocent  never  bustle,  the 
injured  never  bluster. 

"And  the  breaking  of  the  door,  and  the  swagger 
in  the  room  had  no  sincerity  in  them.  If  he  be- 
lieved you  guilty  of  the  baseness,  why  did  he  not 
break  your  head  as  well  as  the  door,  and  cast  your 
carcass  to  the  dogs  ?  I  would  have  done  it,  by 
Heaven  I  would ! — And  they  say  he  looks  down, 
and  his  owl  eyes  thicken  their  glass,  like  a  culprit's, 
when  he  pretends  to  tell  the  true  story.  That  is 
an  unmistakable  mark  of  guilt.  A  liar  glasses  his 
eyes  when  he  lies ;  mark  my  word  for  it ;  while 
truth  has  an  eye  as  frank  as  the  sun,  and  clear  and 
bright  as  a  dew  drop. 

"And  why  all  that  fawning  around  you  in  the 
winter?  And  why  receive  boards,  nails,  and  car- 
penter work  in  barter  for  Mistress  Ophelia's  chasti- 
ty ?— I  know  his  circumstances.  He  had  his  land 
clear ;  he  paid  for  all  his  furniture,  but  he  could 
not  have  paid  your  bills  for  the  house.  And  why 
has  he  demanded  just  that    amount  to  heal  the 


268  SPRING   birds; 

■wounds  of  insulted  honor?  His  wife  is  back  living 
with  him  again,  did  you  know  it?  Yes!  the 
treacherous  Calypso  smiles  again  in  her  halls,  and 
they  say  he  is  fond  as  ever  of  her.  Is  there  no 
suspicion  in  that,  I  ask  3-ou  ?" 

"  I  think  you  do  her  injustice,"  said  Arthur,  "  I 
cannot  yet  believe  she  had  a  hand  in  the  plot," 

"Be  that  as  it  may,"  replied  Huntington.  "I 
must  tell  you  frankly,  my  friend,  you  have  been 
most  guilty  of  all  in  the  settlement  you  made  with 
the  scoundrel.  But  it  is  now  past  remedy.  You 
have  signed  and  sealed  your  ruin ;  I  cannot  retrieve 
it,  except  in  what  I  may  be  able  to  say  and  do  to 
undeceive  the  community." 

Lawyer  Huntington  said  all  this  in  presence  of 
Arthur's  father  and  friends,  and,  while  they  took 
new  comfort  with  him,  they  regretted  they  had  not 
seen  that  counselor  before. 

That  visitor  seemed  another  angel  the  Lord  had 
Bent  down  from  heaven  to  cheer  him,  and  he  relied 
on  the  gentleman's  sympathy  and  influence,  for  much 
to  retrieve  his  own  character  and  peace. 

Mr.  Huntington  made  a  great  stir  in  Hampden, 
and,  as  Fanny  Ludlow  predicted,  many  new  friends 
found  her  brother  out  for  the  first  time,  and  spoke 
such  cheering  words,  Arthur  thought  of  the  troops 
of  little  snow  birds  that  fly  down  on  the  roaring 
winter  storm,  and  twitter  of  love  about  the  door. 

He  got  a  fine  house  that  very  week  to  build  for 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS.  269 

one  of  the  first  men  in  Hampden ;  and  when  he 
had  placed  a  strong  band  of  workmen  on  it,  he  was 
given  Father  Dilworth's  new  church  to  build. 
Others  bid  lower  than  he  for  the  contract,  but  the 
committee  were  instructed  to  give  it  to  him,  and 
that  expression  of  confidence  did  his  heart  a  world 
of  good.  Would  that  Christian  people  have  ten- 
dered such  patronage  to  a  corrupter  of  virtue  ?  No, 
no,  unless  deceived  in  their  confidence !  That  single 
proffer  was  full  of  comfort  as  the  best  sermon  the 
minister  ever  preached.  It  multiplied  his  friends, 
and  dashed  his  enemies.  The  wheel  of  fortune 
rolled  the  right  way  once  more. 

His  workmen  all  loved  him,  and  there  was  not 
one  among  them  who  would  not  have  flung  his  own 
body  between  Arthur  Sumner  and  death.  A  great 
many  of  the  first  people  in  Sydney,  Falkland,  and 
Hampden  joined  in  the  contest,  that  honored  and 
loved  him.  Little  children  loved  him,  rallied  around 
him,  crowded  his  way  with  sunny  faces,  laid  flowers 
on  the  table  where  he  made  his  designs,  and  on  the 
bench  where  he  wrought  fine  carvings  and  run  fine 
mouldings.  And  as  children  are  first  to  discern 
and  admire  the  good,  and  suspect  and  despise  the 
evil,  this  testimony  was,  as  by  instinct,  taken  for  a 
proof  that  he  was  good  and  pure. 

Scarcely  two  months  after  Arthur  engaged  thia 
church,  Wellington  Golden,  who  had  been  absent 
for  a  season,  returned  to  town  in  a  new  employ- 


270  SPRING    BIRDS; 

ment.  He  had  gone  to  Albany  and  engaged  him- 
self to  a  company  of  showmen ;  their  menagerie 
spread  its  proud  pavilion  in  Sydney,  and  Welling- 
ton came  along  as  one  of  its  principal  managers. 
He  had  for  a  great  while  desired  such  a  situation ; 
nay,  the  longing  had  haunted  his  mind  since  the 
menagerie  showed  on  training  day  in  Hampden, 
when  he  called  Arthur,  "Aunt  Tarza  Tyler,"  and 
raised  such  a  roaring  laugh  on  his  short  trowsers 
and  calf-skin  shoes.  Ever  since  that  day  he  had 
aspired  to  this  situation,  and  he  looked  brown,  trim 
and  saucy,  in  his  bold  black  beard,  curled  mus- 
taches, rakish  cap,  cavalier  coat,  and  fly  pantaloons; 
while  he  stroked  and  tweaked  the  luxuriant  tufts 
on  his  lips  and  chin,  and  filled  all  the  sweet  air 
around  him  with  the  smoke  of  a  rare  cigar. 

His  main  business  was  to  keep  order  around  the 
ring,  saddle  the  elephant  when  the  ladies  went  to 
ride,  hold  the  steps,  and  hand  them  gallantly  up 
and  down  from  the  saddle.  At  a  glance,  one  could 
see  how  he  prided  in  his  calling.  His  mother  and 
friends  had  the  first  ride,  of  course,  and  as  he  went 
his  rounds,  and  performed  his  gallant  duties,  many 
little  boys,  with  open  mouths,  watched  his  words 
and  movements,  forgetting  their  oranges  and  gin- 
gerbread, and  wished  for  all  the  world,  they  might 
get  away  up  to  such  a  high,  big,  sight-seeing,  sight- 
showing  station. 


AND    SNOW    BIEDS.  271 

And  how  the  people  wondered  at  his  knowledge 
when  he  described  the  animals  ! 

"This,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "is  the 
royal  Nubian  lion,  which  some  naturalists  suppose 
is  of  the  same  specie  of  ISTaaman's  great  lion,  that  the 
famous  Herculus  slew.  This  is  the  tiger  of  Bengal, 
the  largest  that  was  ever  brought  to  this  country. 
This  is  the  celebrated  zebra  of  South  Africa. — Stand 
back  thar,  gentlemen,  stand  back,  or  that  lion  will 
have  you  in  his  paws !  Naturalists  say  there  are 
six  of  the  specie ;  and  they  constitute  the  genius  to 
which  the  noble  horse  belongs. — Boys,  look  out 
thar,  the  zebra  '11  give  you  jess}" !  The  rarity  of 
this  splendid  animal,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you 
will  all  confess,  when  I  tell  you  he  has  a  hundred 
stripes,  and  he  runs  one  way  while  the  stripes  run 
another.  Here  is  a  pair  of  splendid  leopards, 
just  from  the  jungles. — This,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men— boys,  away  from  the  elephant  thar! — this 
is  the  royal  ring-tail  monkey,  the  only  one  of  the 
specie  that  was  ever  brought  over  the  sea.  You 
perceive,  by  comparison,  that  he  resembles  man  in 
many  of  his  features  and  ways.  In  his  native 
woods  he  suspends  himself  from  the  cocoa  tree,  and 
tries  to  kiss  the  female  women  as  they  pass.  There 
is  a  noble  bison  from  the  prairies  of  the  west. — Only 
one,  only  one,  thar  boys,  on  that  bison's  back  at  a 
time ! — Here  is  a  pair  of  two-hump  camels,  that 
Bobbins  and  Kiley  are  supposed  to  have  rode  when 


272  SPRING   birds; 

prisoners  among  the  Arabs,  Here  is  a  happj 
family  of  birds  and  animals,  from  an  eagle  to  an 
owl,  and  from  a  monkey  to  a  mouse. 

"  This  is  the  royal  boy  constrictor  of  Asia,  It 
bears  a  profusion  of  black  and  yellow  spots  on  its 
back,  and  measures  thirty-one  feet,  six  inches  and 
a  half  It  is  of  the  Python  genius.  It  is  very  fero- 
cious,  and  suspends  itself  on  the  trees,  and  takes 
down  men  and  oxen  at  a  gulp. 

"  Here  is  a  monstrous  white  bear  the  Esquimaux 
catched  climbing  up  the  north  pole. — Ladies,  stand 
back,  stand  back  if  you  please,  or  that  monkey  will 
surely  kiss  you ! — And  this  elephant  is  the  great 
Tippoo  Sultan.  He  measures  fifteen  feet  in  height ; 
his  tusks  are  five  feet,  two,  and  he  can  dance  a  horn- 
pipe as  well  as  the  lightest  lady  here," 

And  thus  he  went  on  describing  the  menagerie, 
while  curious  and  odd  remarks  were  made  on  his 
words.  Billy  Bronk  called  his  work,  "  lifting  the 
elephant ;"  said  Welly  was  so  big  his  mother  had  to 
make  up  two  beds  for  him  last  night,  and  offered 
to  "  bet  ten  dollars  against  one,  by  Sodom,  he  would 
outweigh  great  Tippo  Sultan  himself,  ears,  feet, 
trunk,  tushes  and  all." 

A  week  or  two  after,  they  had  news  from  Jason 
Tyler.  He  went  on  recklessly  at  Buffalo,  obtained 
several  indorsements  of  his  father  on  false  pre- 
tences, and  made  him  a  nominal  partner ;  and  now 
he  had  failed  for  an  amount  which  himself  and  his 


AND    SXOW    BIRDS.  273 

father  together  could  not  pay.  The  old  man's  pro- 
perty was  attached  and  sold,  and  they  were  turned 
out  of  house  and  home,  without  a  sixpence  to  buy 
a  loaf  of  bread. 

A  cruel,  cruel  misfortune!  It  was  no  wonder 
that  Jason  ran  away  to  Ohio.  How  could  he  have 
had  a  face  to  meet  those  indulgent  parents,  or  an 
ear  to  hear  that  poor  blind  brother's  moan?  There 
was  Jane  left,  and  a  kinder  creature  never  wiped  a 
parent's  tears.  She  ran  to  them  ;  her  husband,  her 
children  ran,  in  hopes  to  ease  their  fall ;  but  all 
they  could  do,  was  to  lift  their  gray  heads  a  little, 
and  lay  scanty  pillows  beneath.  They  were  ready 
to  share  the  last  loaf  with  them,  and  with  blind 
Sydney;  they  would  do  it,  and  be  blessed  in  the  deed. 
But  they  had  a  large  family,  and  it  seemed  to 
the  Tylers  like  laying  live  coals  on  the  tenderest 
wound,  to  go  there.  Yet  they  could  not  lie  on  the 
frosty  earth,  with  not  even  a  bark  shelter  to  cover 
them  from  the  night,  and  they  went  to  live  with 
their  daughter. 

Sydney,  by  his  wonderful  activity,  had  supported 
himself  by  his  willow-work  for  the  last  few  years, 
and  he  might  have  continued  that  support,  but  his 
shop  and  all  went  to  pay  Jason's  debts,  and  he  had 
nothing  left  to  help  himself  Arthur  would  have 
built  him  a  shop  on  the  cascade  in  his  garden,  but 
that  too  had  passed  away,  and  he  could  not  lay  that 
comfort  to  his  heart.     ^Ir.  Sumner,  however,  gave 


274  SPRING  birds; 

Sydney  a  home  at  his  house  for  a  time ;  arranged 
a  fine  shop  for  him  in  his  corn-house,  and  set  him 
to  work  again. 

But  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyler  gave  up  to  grief,  and 
hopeless  melancholy.  Mr.  Tyler  took  the  misfor- 
tune most  keenly,  was  thrown  into  a  violent  brain- 
fever,  and  death  came  quickly  and  closed  the  cur- 
tain on  his  scene  of  wo.  Every  one  thought  Mrs. 
Tyler  would  soon  follow  her  husband,  for  she  was 
brought  down  to  her  bed,  with  a  heart,  which  she 
said  was  broken  all  to  pieces. 

Arthur  visited  her  often,  and  mourned  with  her, 
as  if  she  had  been  his  mother,  and  he  felt  the 
deepest  grief  when  he  remembered  it  was  be- 
yond his  power  at  present  to  give  her  any  pecuniary 
aid.  Had  his  own  home  remained  at  his  disposal, 
the  Tylers  would  have  all  been  taken  immediately 
to  it,  and  made  most  welcome  there.  Sydney  was 
scarcely  from  her  chamber  for  weeks,  and  he  and 
Arthur  strove  to  excel  each  other  in  expressions  of 
sympathy  and  love. 

The  whole  neighborhood  mourned  for  them,  and 
offered  many  kind  things  to  mitigate  their  sorrow. 
The  whole  neighborhood  were  indignant  at  the  cold 
and  selfish  manner  in  which  possession  was  taken 
of  Mr.  Tyler's  home.  The  tides  of  sympathy  were 
turned  a  while  from  Arthur  into  hearts  that  had 
greater  need,  and  he  was  comforted  to  see  those 
poor  hearts  share  them.     Duty  at  last  called  him 


AND    SNOW    BIRDS,  275 

on  a  visit  to  Summerfield.  His  parents  expressed  a 
right  to  his  presence,  and  he  obeyed  them ;  while 
he  begged  to  be  released  in  a  fortnight,  to  return 
and  attend  to  business,  which  called  him  on  every 
hand.  The  journey  would  be  pleasant  as  he  could 
make  it  in  remembrance  of  mourning  friends,  and 
it  was  not  likely  that  his  reputation  would  suffer 
greatly  by  two  weeks'  absence. 


XX- 

TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

"While  two  weeks  were  passing  in  Summerfield, 
another  scene  opened  in  Sydney.  William  Popin- 
jay was  one  of  the  actors.  For  two  years,  or  more, 
he  had  been  employed  as  an  agent  for  a  small  land 
company  of  New  York  City,  had  sold  out  most  of 
the  land  under  his  agency,  and  a  large  amount  of 
receipts  remained  in  "his  hands  awaiting  further  or- 
ders. An  order  came  that  it  should  be  paid  into 
a  bank  at  Eochester,  in  exchange  for  a  draft  on 
New  York  City. 

In  less  than  two  weeks  after  Arthur  set  out  for 
Summerfield,  William  Popinjay  started  for  Roches- 
ter on  the  business  of  that  exchange.  He  started 
in  a  one  horse  carriage,  by  the  earliest  morning 
light,  and  his  man,  Mike  Lakeman,  went  along  as 
driver.  -Ophelia  was  told  not  to  expect  them  be- 
fore another  da}^,  as  they  would  remain  in  Rochester 
till  the  next  morning,  transacting  other  business. 
Mr.  Summerton  was  passing  toward  Hampden,  as 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  277 

"William  parted  with  his  wife  at  the  gate  of  his 
proud  mansion,  and  he  was  surprised  to  remark  on 
her  beautiful  face  the  signs  of  an  illness  that  seemed 
eating  her  heart  awaj,  and  a  look  of  grief,  which 
could  hardly  have  been  impressed  by  so  short  a 
separation  from  her  husband. 

William's  spirited  horse  soon  wheeled  him  out 
of  sight  of  the  slow-jogging  farmer,  and  he  thought 
no  more  of  the  triJEling  incident,  till  in  the  afternoon, 
as  he  Avas  about  setting  off  for  home,  William  and 
his  man  returned  through  Hampden,  with  trouble 
and  alarm  on  each  pale  face,  declaring  that  robbers 
had  met  them  with  pistols  and  knives  in  the  woods 
on  their  way,  and  taken  that  package  of  money 
from  them.  The  cry  of  robbers,  like  a  flash  of 
powder,  kindled  all  the  town  into  one  wide  flame 
of  commotion,  and  before  they  entered  the  Hamp- 
den House,  a  crowd  came  pressing  around  them,  in 
open-mouthed  wonder;  to  hear  them  tell  their  story. 

They  were  in  the  darkest  part  of  a  dense  and 
gloomy  wood,  it  appeared,  when  a  giant  of  a  devil 
darted  from  the  thicket,  glaring  the  most  horrid 
eyes  from  an  ugly  black  face,  and,  catching  the 
horse  by  the  bits,  and  pointing  a  pistol,  cried  out : 
"Your  money,  or  your  lives!"  Mike  belched  a 
blasting  oath,  and  leaped  to  throttle  the  miscreant, 
when  out  rushed  three  more  as  black  as  thunder- 
clouds, looking  daggers,  grinning  hatred  and  hell, 


278  TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

witli  pistols  cocked,  and  cutlasses  ready,  repeating 
the  demand ! 

What  could  William  do?  He  sat  unarmed  in 
the  carriage,  frightened,  of  course,  as  the  bravest 
man  would  be,  when  assaulted  so  unexpectedly, 
while  Mike  determined  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as 
he  could,  and  with  a  blow  from  the  butt  of  his 
loaded  whip,  dashed  the  robber  at  the  bridle  to  the 
ground.  Upon  that,  two  of  the  others  fired,  one 
at  him,  grazing  his  left  side,  and  the  other  at  Pitt, 
boring  his  very  hat,  carrying  through  the  riddled 
felt,  as  they  could  see,  the  hair  from  a  furrow  just 
clearing  his  skull,  with  a  bullet  which  would  have 
dropped  him  dead,  with  an  aim  one  half  an  inch 
lower ! 

What  was  next  to  be  done,  aha! — what  next? 
They  might  have  whipped  up  the  horse,  and  left 
the  robbers  behind,  but  it  was  not  to  be  forgotten 
that  Mike  was  on  the  ground  with  the  whip,  and 
before  he  could  jump  into  the  carriage,  they  were 
both  caught  by  the  throat  and  forced  to  surrender. 
Then  all  their  money  was  taken,  and  the  villain 
with  a  broken  head,  swore  he  would  cut  out  their 
hearts,  and  fling  them  to  the  hogs,  and  the  others 
at  first  cried,  "Go  it!  go  it!"  but  they  pleaded  so 
hard,  they  were  released  with  bloody  threats ;  and 
the  robbers  took  to  the  woods,  while  the  lawyer 
and  his  man  set  their  horse  on  a  run  for  Hampden. 

"But  I  wouldn't  hev  that  cuss's  cracked  head 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  279 

fur  my  cap  full  of  hunderd  dollar  bills!"  cried 
Mike,  with  a  lofty  shake  of  his  big  woolly  head, 
and  a  snarling  grin  of  his  mastiff  teeth, 

"Something  hungrier  than  hogs,  I  think — the 
nasty  maggots  will  eat  up  his  heart !"  added  Wil- 
liam Pitt,  in  an  earnest,  but  twitterinsr  voice. 

"  I  shouldn't  gretly  wonder !"  added  Mike,  shak- 
ing his  woblly  head  once  more,  and  showing  his 
teeth,  and  winking  his  great  greedy  eyes.  "  No,  I 
shouldn't  gretly  wonder  ef  the  hogs  was  smackin' 
their  chops  on  him  now.  'T  any  rate,  it'll  take 
suthin'  stickier 'n  Chiny  cement  to  putty  his  broken 
pate  agin ;  and  if  he  lives  at  all,  he'll  oilers  be  silly 
as  old  Zed  Shymer's  fool !" 

"I  tremble  yet,  I  confess,"  said  Pitt,  "  to  think 
of  the  devils.  But — ha !  ha !  ha !  you  would  have 
laughed,  after  all,  to  see  Mike  jump  on  the  first 
one,  and  give  him  jessy !" 

"  Didn't  I  doo't  handsome,  eh  ?  And  didn't  he 
drop  like  a  beef  critter?  But  he  was  big  as  a  buf- 
falo, he  had  a  skull  like  a  potash  kittle,  and  I  won- 
der he  didn't  wost  me,"  said  Mike, 

"It  is  all  over  now,  thank  Heaven — all  over  with 
him,  1  think — ha !  ha !  ha !  don't  you,  Mike  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  gretly  wonder  !  And  he's  such  a 
meaty  moose,  he'll  feed  a  drove  of  hogs  for  a  fort- 
night," added  Mike. 

But  we  have  a  story  of  our  own  to  tell,  and  we 
must  resume  it.     Who  were  the  robbers,  white 


280  TRIUMPH    OF    YIRTUE. 

men,  negroes,  or  Indians  ?  They  must  have  been 
white  men  in  a  black  disguise.  And  who  in  that 
region  could  have  known  Lawyer  Popinjay  was 
going  to  pass  that  way  with  money  ?  No  one  could 
imagine.  Who  in  Sydney  knew  he  had  money  ? 
Mike  and  Ophelia.  Mike  was  true;  a  crow-bar 
could  not  wrench  a  secret  from  his  mouth.  But 
had  not  Arthur  Sumner  alwaj^s  spoken  "tenderly  of 
Ophelia  ?  Had  she  not  said  less  against  him  than 
a  woman  would  naturally  say  of  a  paramour  she 
hated  ?  Might  she  not  have  whispered  the  secret 
to  Arthur?  Was  an  intended  robbery  and  elope- 
ment too  much  to  suspect  ?  Had  not  Arthur  disap- 
peared rather  suddenly,  on  the  pretense  of  visiting 
his  father  ?  Did  not  everybody  know  that  he  felt 
very,  sore,  from  giving  all  he  had  to  hush  a  villain's 
crime  ? 

William  Popinjay,  Esq.  would  scorn  to  breathe 
a  hasty  or  unfounded  suspicion  even  against  a  foe ; 
but  when  beset  by  inquiries  he  could  not  evade,  he 
ventured,  in  profound  confidence,  to  ask  all  of  these 
questions. 

The  robbery  was  sworn  to,  and  should  not  a  Avar- 
rant  be  issued  forthwith  ?  By  all  means ;  and  a 
warrant  was  demanded  and  obtained  to  arrest  Arthur 
Sumner ;  but  the  Justice  gave  the  officers  particular 
instructions,  and  secretly  wrote  to  one  of  the  land 
company  in  New  York,  to  come  in  haste  to  Hamp- 
den.    He  then  informed  Mr.  Sumner  of  the  process 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  281 

against  Arthur,  and  sent  him  to  Huntington  for 
counsel.  That  talented  lawyer  was  glad  to  be 
consulted,  and  charged  Mr.  Sumner  to  say  nothing, 
but  go  with  the  officers,  and  have  Arthur  under- 
stand, and  return  immediately  to  Sydney. 

The  excitement  was  allowed  to  have  its  run ;  the 
papers  published  the  daring  robbery ;  locks  were 
examined,  doors  were  fastened,  mastiffs  were  set 
on  watch  in  many  houses,  while  children  slept  close 
by  their  mothers,  and  men  lay  with  arms  for  de- 
fence in  their  beds.  ^ 

William  Pitt  wrote  to  his  clients,  informing  them 
of  the  robbery ;  but  before  they  received  his  letter, 
they  had  that  of  the  Justice,  and  two  of  them  were 
on  their  way  to  Hampden.  Thej'  arrived,  and 
employed  Mr.  Huntington  for  counsel,  who  met 
them  at  first  in  secret,  and,  after  a  thorough  inves- 
tigation, they  were  convinced  that  their  agent 
robbed  himself  of  their  money.  This  convic- 
tion however,  was  concealed,  and  Huntington's  ad- 
vice was  followed,  to  extort  a  confession,  and  the 
money  from  him.  The  scheme  would  set  a  danger- 
ous example,  he  truly  enough  confessed,  and  he 
could  not  defend  it,  except  on  a  positive  assurance 
of  guilt,  and  a  very  stern  expediency,  which  he 
hoped  might  never  rise  again. 

Popinjay  was  invited  to  an  interview,  in  a  by 
place,  where  counsel  was  to  be  taken,  and  a  confes- 
sion obtained  from  the  culprit,  who  would  be  brought 


282  TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

to  the  place.  Dr.  Pearson,  a  Justice  of  tlie  Peace, 
and  two  or  tliree  others  were  secretly  invited  to  be 
present.  They  met  at  the  appointed  hour,  and 
took  pleasant  seats  in  a  shade  overlooking  a  pond 
of  water.  The}^  were  not  seated  half  an  hour  before 
officers  appeared,  leading  Arthur  Sumner,  and  he 
was  given  a  seat  among  them.  Then  one  of  the 
land  company  said  to  Popinjay,  mildly,  "  They 
have  arrested  the  man  you  suspect,  and  placed  him 
by  your  side ;  he  or  you  can  tell  us  where  our 
money  is,  and  we  wait  for  information.  Which  of 
you  can  tell?" 

"/cannot,"  said  Arthur. 

"I'm  sure  /cannot,"  said  the  lawyer. 

But  while  firm  and  smiling  innocence  in  every 
air  and  tone  vindicated  the  former,  unconcealable 
guilt  blushed  all  over  the  face,  and  shook  the  frame 
of  the  latter. 

"  You,  William  P.  Popinjay,  are  the  guilty  man," 
said  the  land-owner,  "  and  you  must  tell  where  our 
money  is." 

"  I  am  innocent,  by  jiminy !  and  I  cannot  tell." 

"  You  are  not  innocent,  and  you  must  tell,  or 
you  must  die  in  that  pond !" 

"  I  will  die,  then,  rather  than  tell  a  falsehood. 
How  can  I  tell  what  I  do  not  know  ?' ' 

"You  are  guilty,  sir,  we  know  you  are.  We 
will  have  your  confession.  Here  is  your  physician 
to  examine  your  pulse,  and  tell  how  long  you  may 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  283 

be  held  under  water  without  drowning,  and  we  will 
give  you  four  trials.  We  will  plunge  you,  and 
then  restore  you,  and  ask  where  our  money  is.  If 
you  do  not  tell,  we  will  plunge  you  again,  and 
again,  and  if  you  force  us  to  put  you  under  the 
fourth  time,  you  shall  not  come  out  till  you  are 
dead,  so  help  us  Heaven  !" 

Arthur  turned  pale  and  trembled,  for  the  pity  he 
felt  for  the  wretch,  and  the  fear  that  they  would 
drown  him.  Mr.  Sumner  declared  it  was  wrong, 
and  they  turned  their  heads  away.  But  Popinjay 
discovered  Arthur's  pallor  and  agitation,  and  cried, 
"  He  is  the  guilty  one,  now ;  see  the  villain  shake !" 

But  they  knew  the  lawyer  was  guilty,  and  strong 
arms  held  him  gurgling  and  flouncing  in  the  water 
till  Dr.  Pearson  said,  "  Bring  him  out,"  and  he  was 
restored.  But  still  protesting  innocence,  and  accu- 
sing Arthur,  they  plunged  him  in  again.  That 
was  too  much  for  Arthur  and  Mr.  Sumner,  and, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes,  they  pleaded  for  mercy  on 
the  criminal.  The  laud-owner  accused  them  of 
weakness,  and  demanded  silence.  They  said  it  was 
outrageous,  and  they  could  not  remain  silent. — 
"  Then  leave  us  !"  cried  the  land-owner,  sternly,  and 
they  rushed,  with  horror,  from  the  field. 

Again  the  culprit  was  restored,  and  swore  he 
knew  not  where  the  money  was,  and  he  would  die 
an  innocent  man.  Again  they  held  him  gurgling  and 
flouncing  under;  again  restored  him,  and  said:  "It 


284  TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

pains  us  to  do  this — it  hurts  us  as  bad  as  it  does 
you,  but  we  are  determined  you  shall  tell  where 
our  money  is,  or  die !" 

Again  he  protested  innocence,  was  assured  it  was 
the  last  time  they  would  ask  him,  and  the  last  five 
minutes  he  had  for  confession,  or  the  last  five  min- 
utes he  had  to  live. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  I  do  not  know  !"  cried  the 
poor  man,  weeping  like  a  child.  "  Kill  me,  if  you 
choose.  I  care  not  to  live  any  longer.  I  will  not 
live,  and  be  branded  with  another's  crime  !  Lead 
me  along!  Drown  me,  and  go  and  tell  my  wife 
you  have  murdered  her  husband,  and  the  world, 
you  have  murdered  an  innocent  man  !" 

This  appeal  was  too  much  for  Dr.  Pearson,  and 
he  said,  "  I  would  not  go  any  further.  I  begin  to 
believe  he  is  innocent,  and  the  guilty  one  has  fled." 

"  So  do  I !"  cried  the  Justice.*  "  The  case  is  mys- 
terious, and  I  think  it  would  be  a  savage  outrage 
to  lead  him  in  again."  But  the  other  party  were 
the  strongest,  and  they  led  him  in  where  the  water 
reached  his  ankles, — then  his  loins, — then  his  waist. 
And, — "  Tell  where  our  money  is  !"  cried  the  land- 
owner. 

"Ask  Arthur  Pabens,  /do  not  know !"  cried  the 
culprit. 

"  Drown  him !"  cried  the  land-owner ;  and  as 
the  strong  hands  bent  to  that  painful  work  again, 
the  culprit  cried :  "  Do  not  drown  me  ! — I  will  tell ! 


TKIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  285 

— It  is  hid  in  my  cellar  wall. — I  hid  it  myself. — Go 
with  Mike,  one  of  you,  and  you  shall  have  it  in 
half  an  hour  !" 

That  was  all  they  asked  at  present,  and  the 
criminal  was  led  to  the  shore  and  tenderly  used, 
and  the  money  was  brought,  in  half  an  hour,  with 
not  a  missing  dollar  to  account  for.  But  Popinjay 
and  Lakeman  had  both  made  oath  of  the  robbery, 
and  they  were  sent  to  jail  to  await  their  trial  for 
perjury. 

When  Ophelia  heard  of  her  husband's  impris- 
onment, she  locked  up  her  house,  returned  to  her 
mother's,  and,  overpowered  by  suffering,  lay  down 
on  her  bed,  never  again,  with  her  own  strength,  to 
rise.  She  heard  of  the  false  suspicion  her  husband 
had  again  cast  upon  herself  and  Arthur  Sumner, 
and  was  told  that  while  in  jail,  he  had  so  far  re- 
lented, as  to  declare,  before  God,  she  was  innocent 
of  every  thing  he  had  ever  hinted  against  her. 

"  He  may  well  say  that !"  exclaimed  the  poor, 
heart-broken  creature.  "And  now  I  must  tell  a 
tale  that  I  cannot  keep  any  longer — that  I  cannot 
carry  before  my  God.  I  have  been  too  sinful  all 
my  life,  but  I  never  sinned  with  Arthur  Sumner. 
It  is  true,  as  he  declares,  that  he  called  at  our  house 
on  an  invitation  from  William.  I  invited  him  in. 
After  a  sliort  conversation,  I  asked  him  to  walk 
through  the  house,  and  see  how  it  looked  with  our 
new  furniture.    Neither  of  us  harbored  an  improper 


286  TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

thought,  and  passed  around,  gaily  talking,  from 
room  to  room.  At  last  I  bade  him  step  into  my 
chamber,  and  see  the  pleasant  view  I  could  enjoy 
from  my  window.  As  soon  as  we  entered,  some 
one,  or  the  wind,  closed  the  door,  and,  in  an  in- 
stant, William  and  Michael — whom  I  thought  at 
the  neighbor's — burst  open  the  door,  and  treated 
and  accused  him  as  they  have  told.  This  is  the 
tale  I  am  forced  to  tell.  But  I  have  not  lived  sin- 
less as  I  should  have  lived  before  God,  and  with 
Him  I  plead  for  pardon. 

Arthur,  and  two  or  three  of  his  friends,  were 
soon  at  her  bed-side,  and,  with  tears,  and  entreaties 
against  immoderate  gTief,  they  soothed  and  consoled 
her.  They  then  prayed  for  her,  and  she  felt  that 
God  had  pardoned  her  sins,  and  found  sweet 
rest  for  her  soul.  But  she  was  sinking  with  con- 
sumption, and  begged  to  die  beneath  her  father's 
roof. 

Her  father  and  mother  took  her  sufferings  as  if 
they  had  been  their  own.  Bolivar  scarcely  left  her 
chamber;  and  you  could  not  have  entered  that  sad 
house  yourself,  without  weeping  with  them.  Ophe- 
lia's story  was  repeated  to  Pitt,  and  he  said  every 
word  of  it  was  true,  and  he  only  wished  he  had  been 
worthy  of  such  a  wife ;  while  Michael  added  cor- 
roborating testimony. 

Lawyer  Huntington  was  permitted  to  proceed 
against  the  criminal  immediately,  and  recover  dues 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  287 

and  damages  for  Arthur.  Pitt  was  anxious  to  settle, 
and,  as  the  amount  demanded  would  cover  his  land, 
house,  furniture  and  all,  it  was  all  given  up,  and 
signed  over  to  the  Builder.  Arthur  then  took  to 
himself  his  original  due  on  the  house,  divided  the 
considerable  sum  that  was  left,  and  without  a  day's 
delay,  settled  half  of  it  on  Ophelia,  and  her  father 
as  her  heir. 

At  first  she  refused  to  accept  a  thing  so  unmer- 
ited ;  but  she  was  at  last  persuaded,  on  her  father's 
account,  to  receive  it.  She  lived  a  month  longer 
than  any  one  anticipated,  and,  while  she  lived, 
every  tender  sympathy,  and  every  kind  attention 
was  given  her,  with  pleadings  to  be  comforted. 

Martha  Sumner  was  one  of  her  most  constant 
fiiends  and  frequent  visitors,  and  there  was  comfort 
on  her  face,  relief  in  her  blessed  hand,  and  heaven 
in  her  angel  benedictions.  Fanny  Ludlow  sent 
Ophelia  her  love,  in  a  very  beautiful  letter  to  Mar- 
tha, and  that  prolonged  her  life  more  than  any 
medicine  she  took. 

On  the  day  Ophelia  received  the  benefaction  from 
Arthur,  she  was  greatly  comforted  to  know  that 
the  other  half  was  settled  on  her  husband's  poor 
and  melancholy  mother.  She  sorrowed  deeply  for 
her  husband,  and  the  course  that  brought  upon 
him,  so  early,  such  misery  and  disgrace.  She 
prayed  that  they  might  deal  gently  with  him,  and  that 


288  TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE. 

he  might  reform,  and  return  and  share  his  mother's 
home. 

Eeligion  had  more  and  more  power  over  her  soul, 
and  lifted  it  higher  and  higher  above  the  sense  of 
sufleriug.  Her  last  day  was  made  peaceful  by  a 
visit  from  Father  Dilworth,  who  talked  of  the  merits 
and  mercies  of  Christ,  and  the  blessings  of  the  world 
to  come.  The  sun  went  down  unclouded,  and  left 
a  lingering  and  cheering  smile  on  the  world,  and 
with  the  sun,  her  spirit  passed  away,  with  a  prayer 
on  its  lips  for  William,  Wellington  and  all,  to  that 
heavenly  sphere  where  neither  sin  nor  sorrow  can- 
enter. 

The  trial  came,  and  William  and  Michael  were 
condemned,  and  sent  to  Auburn  Prison.  Then 
they  had  news  of  Wellington  Golden,  and  it  was 
said  he  was  sinking  in  habits  of  dissipation  and 
vice.  Then  another  stroke  fell  on  Mrs.  Tyler.  She 
had  partially  recovered  from  her  first  affiiction, 
and  had  but  just  received  a  letter  from  Jason,  beg- 
ging her  forgiveness,  and  promising  to  come  home ; 
when  an  account  of  a  disaster  on  Lake  Erie  fol- 
lowed, and  the  name  of  Jason  Tyler  was  on  the 
hst  of  a  number  lost  from  a  burning  steamer. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Mrs.  Tyler  had  a 
mother's  heart,  and  she  loved  that  son,  notwith- 
standing his  errors.  Her  heart  followed  after  him, 
like  an  eager  shepherdess,  and  she  would  have 
brought  him  back  in  her  bosom,  and  supported  him 


TRIUMPH    OF    VIRTUE.  289 

by  her  own  hands,  had  she  found  it  in  her  power. 
She  felt  that  it  was  cruel,  indeed,  to  be  debarred 
the  comfort  of  speaking  her  free  forgiveness  in  his 
ear,  of  having  one  little  farewell  word,  and  stand- 
ing near  to  compose  his  cold  form,  and  see  it  buried 
in  a  peaceful  grave.  She  took  to  her  bed  once 
more,  and  Jane  and  S^^dney  quite  forgot  their  griefs, 
and  Giles  his  pains  and  troubles,  in  their  efforts  to 
calm  and  console  her. 


13 


XXI. 

THE     WEDDING. 

Aethur  Sumner  was  again  triumphant.  Even 
Dr.  Waxwood  had  been  silenced,  and  Lusia,  at  last, 
would  have  danced  into  wedlock  Avith  him,  and 
her  mother  shouted  for  joy.  Mrs.  Golden  was  com- 
pelled to  esteem  him,  and  Dumie  Truck  could  not 
find  words  in  the  dictionary  to  tell  how  she  admired 
him,  and  hated  the  convict  lawyer ;  and  this  was 
her  final  judgment,  when  she  married  a  widower 
and  children,  at  Falkland,  and  carried  to  them,  in 
a  good  home,  diligent  hands,  a  facile  will,  and  a 
heart  of  many  genial  feelings. 

Arthur  Sumner  was  again  triumphant.  Yet 
melancholy  mingled  many  shadows  with  his  light, 
for  he  felt  very  deeply  for  his  enemies,  and  sor- 
rowed for  their  woes.  His  friends  triumphed  with 
him.  And  many  of  them  were  in  a  condition  to 
look  upon  their  own  life  with  joy. 

Billy  Bronk  and  his  wife  were  old  ;  but  they  had 
been  far  more  happy  since  the  Sacred  Supper  in 


THE    WEDDING.  291 

Martha  Sumner's  chamber,  for  that  scene  melted 
their  hearts,  and  changed  their  life ;  and  Billj 
abandoned  drink,  reformed  his  speech,  attended 
church  more  regularly,  and  thought  of  God  and 
heaven.  The  Summertons  were  happy.  Volney 
was  temperate  as  the  parson,  had  a  beautiful  home, 
an  honorable  trade,  good  sense  and  information, 
and  more  and  more  pleasure  in  the  mutual  library. 
Barney  Bronk  had  a  double-forge  smith}^,  and  good 
business  of  his  own,  in  which  he  delighted  to  blow 
and  strike,  with  honest  sweat  on  his  kindly  face ; 
and  you  would  have  been  astonished  to  see  the  in- 
telligent man  the  Beading  Circle  made  him.  Ru- 
leff  Gordon  was  a  widower,  sincerely  mourning  that 
excellent  wife,  whom  he  had  buried  in  the  grave. 
Betsey  Bronk  Gordon's  first  born  son  was  a  noble 
fellow  now,  and  talked  of  being  a  man  next  sum- 
mer; and  he  knew  Arthur  Sumner  would  give  him 
a  fine  present  for  his  name ;  while  little  red-haired 
George,  and  white-haired  Barney  would  be  remem- 
bered by  their  namesakes. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sumner  were  very  happy  in  their 
home,  and  happy  with  Martha's  accomplishments 
and  prospects,  while  they  took  a  wonderful  liking 
to  George's  girl  in  Summerfield.  The  Dales  were 
well,  and  had  a  fine  home  and  competence. 

The  Goldens  had  sorrow  upon  sorrow ;  for  now 
the  news  came  that  AYellington  had  died  of  disease 
in  a  distant  hospital.     Yet  they  possessed  means 


292  THE    WEDDIXG. 

enough  to  carry  tbem  tlirougli  the  world,  and  it 
was  hoped  Mr.  Golden  would  see  many  days  of 
comfort  yet  on  earth,  and  Mrs.  Golden  might  not 
reflect  too  severely  on  herself,  nor  remain  unhappy, 
while  she  now  understood,  and  correctly  applied 
Father  Dilworth's  Sermon.  Bolivar  was  in  a  small 
practice  by  himself,  still  wearing  his  parasol  hat 
and  white  gloves  in  summer ;  still  perfectly  able  to 
write  a  dozen  prescriptions  in  Latin ;  and  now  it 
was  certain  Arthur  would  marry  Martha,  he  had 
the  assurance  of  Andalusia, 

William  Pitt  was  learning  to  make  machinery  in 
the  midst  of  a  wo  that  would  have  held  him  hell- 
bound  for  a  while,  though  stepping  in  the  largest; 
liberty,  and  hell-burned,  though  standing  amid  the 
ices  of  the  poles.  Yet  he  acquired  his  trade  very 
rapidly,  and  loved  it,  and  wondered  he  had  not 
preferred  it  long  ago  to  the  machinery  of  law ; 
while  every  humane  person  rejoiced  to  hear  he  was 
kindly  treated ;  and  that  he  knew  he  would  share 
his  mother's  home,  and  have  a  plenty  of  engage- 
ments, good  wages  as  a  machinist,  and  respect  and 
fellowship,  whenever  he  returned  a  reformed  man. 

And  that  reformation,  they  were  assured,  com- 
menced even  before  he  went  to  prison.  The  unex- 
pected discovery  of  his  last  crime,  and  the  anguish 
which  immediately  followed,  with  the  sickness  and 
death  of  his  wife,  smarted  like  blazing  embers  on 
his  heart;   but  they  burned  away  the  rubbish  of 


THE    WEDDING.  293 

false  life  "whicli  was  accumulated  there,  arrested 
him  on  the  road  of  crime,  and  made  him  a  simple- 
hearted  child  again,  unbiased,  receptive,  obedient, 
to  commence  once  more  his  career,  and  set  his  feet 
in  that  mountain  path  of  virtue,  whose  course 
winds  up  to  heaven. 

Mrs.  Tyler  recovered  from  her  grief  at  last,  and 
talked  of  the  joys  of  that  blessed  hope  which  had 
raised  and  consoled  her.  Her  health  became  excel- 
lent, and  she  loved  to  return  Jane  and  Giles's  kind- 
ness as  far  as  she  had  room  to  move  in,  and  power 
to  act.  But  Giles  did  not  own  that  little  home ; 
Giles  was  weakly,  and  was  grieved  to  think  he 
could  aid  that  good  parent  so  little,  while  Mrs. 
Tyler  felt  that  it  was  a  sad  thing  indeed,  in  these 
aged  years,  in  this  desolate  widowhood,  to  have  the 
additional  grief  of  want  and  dependence. 

Sydney  Tyler  still  enjoyed  a  hospitable  home  at 
Mr.  Sumner's ;  but  he  had  refused  to  remain  there 
any  longer,  unless  Mr.  Sumner  would  accept  a  part 
of  his  earnings  toward  his  board ;  yet,  while  he 
felt  deeply  for  his  mother,  and  mourned  the  misfor- 
tunes of  his  family,  he  found  many  cheerful  days, 
and  was  often  heard  singing,  repeating  poetry,  and 
reciting  history,  when  the  music  of  his  willow-work 
did  not  absorb  his  mind.  The  dues  and  fines  he 
had  paid  into  the  library  fund,  which  were  put  on 
interest  for  him,  were  now  poured  into  his  hand,  in 
a  very  handsome  sum. 


294  THE     WEDDING. 

And  Sydney  had  so  attuned  the  faculties  he  had 
left,  and  so  cultivated  his  mind  and  heart,  he  seemed 
to  enjoy  a  finer  sense  than  his  eyes  ever  gave  him, 
and  seldom  felt  the  need  of  eyes.  He  retained  all 
his  early  impressions  of  nature  in  most  vivid  lights, 
and  often  comforted  himself  with  the  mercy  of  not 
seeing  his  friends  grow  old,  and  being  saved  from 
every  unpleasant  sight. 

Arthur  mourned  for  the  Tylers,  as  he  would  for 
his  own  dear  kindred,  but  that  mourning  was  turned 
into  joy  when  he  lifted  Mrs.  Tyler  from  her  full, 
and  set  her  down  in  a  good  warm  home,  which  was 
hers  till  she  entered  her  home  in  heaven.  Half  of 
this  business  was  Martha  Sumner's.  Arthur  repur- 
chased the  pleasant  home  he  had  been  forced  to  sell ; 
the  cheerful  house  and  sunny  acres  of  garden,  trees 
and  fruits,  with  Martha's  rose  bush,  honeysuckle, 
and  tulips — he  repurchased  all,  and  gave  Mrs.  Tyler 
a  life-lease  of  it,  to  enjoy  and  command  as  her  own, 
on  the  condition  that  she  would  give  one  of  the 
best  rooms,  and  the  cascade,  and  a  shop  in  the  gar- 
den, to  Sydney,  (who  should  have  a  life-lease  when 
she  was  gone,)  and  take  Jane,  and  Giles,  and  their 
children  home,  and  shelter  them,  and  share  with 
them  all  while  she  lived.  And  they  knew  the 
house  would  be  kept  in  the  finest  order,  and  every 
thing  taken  care  of,  while  Mrs.  Tyler,  with  her  own 
hands,  would  tend  Martha's  flowers,  and  set  out  a 
pink-bed,  and  leave  the  garden  better  for  a  row  of 


THE    WEDDING.  295 

blooming  hollyhocks,  and  banks  of  balm,  worm- 
wood, hyssop,  comfrey,  sage,  and  live-forever. 

And  if  you  could  have  seen  the  weeping  joy 
with  which  that  thankful  old  creature  was  dissolved 
by  this  filial  act  from  one  she  loved  as  a  darling 
son ;  and  how  Sydney  kindled,  and  paced  the  room, 
and  repeated  his  thanks  and  joys,  and  sung  among 
his  willows  on  the  cascade  in  the  garden  of  his 
new  home ;  and  how  Giles  and  Jane  grew  garrulous 
with  words  of  grateful  love ;  and  the  children 
danced,  and  laughed,  and  leaped  to  embrace  their 
benefactor,  you  would  have  found  tears  in  your 
eyes,  while  your  heart  danced  with  them ;  and  you 
would  have  envied  that  good  young  man  the  bliss 
of  all  his  goodness. 

Arthur  returned  to  the  direction  of  his  business. 
The  last  house  in  Hampden  had  been  sometime 
finished,  and  the  gentleman  and  his  family  felt  as 
proud  of  their  mansion,  as  he  did  of  the  finishing 
perfections  he  laid  on  his  still  growing  talents, 
while  doing  its  elaborate  work. 

Materials  had  been  so  slowly  furnished.  Father 
Dilworth's  church  was  but  just  completed.  But 
you  could  observe  that  Arthur  loved  that  pastor 
and  people  with  filial  affection,  by  the  extra  neat- 
ness and  beauty  in  which  the  fabric  now  stood 
awaiting  dedication,  as  you  have  seen  a  white  bride 
at  the  altar,  or  a  pure  and  lovely  girl  at  the  bap- 
tismal font. 


296  THE    WEDDING. 

Father  Dihvortli  acted  like  a  child  in  his  delight, 
and  kept  fussing  about  the  young  trees  in  front, 
and  the  pleasant  pulpit  within,  while  his  de;icons 
and  people  were  quite  as  childish  as  he.  The  dedi- 
cation was  celebrated,  and  a  more  memorable  day 
never  dawned  on  that  little  rural  town.  The  good 
old  parson  wore  a  new  black  wig,  and  a  glossy  suit  of 
the  finest  clothes.  He  wore  a  new  pair  of  gold 
spectacles,  a  present  from  one  of  his  people,  and  a 
neckcloth,  bosom  and  collar,  as  white  as  the  falling 
snow.  He  wore  a  new  pair  of  high-heeled  Suwar- 
row  boots,  stitched  in  roses  on  the  counters,  and 
black  balled  till  they  shone  like  a  marble  mantel, 
and  they  squeaked  all  through  the  aisles,  and  up 
the  pulpit  stairs.  His  sermon  was  measured  like 
blank  verse,  and  abounded  in  metaphors  and  ardors, 
as  a  Christmas  pudding  with  plums,  and  his  voice 
was  so  young  and  musical  that  day,  had  you  heard 
him  for  the  first  time,  you  would  not  have  dared  to 
say  aloud  that  he  was  more  than  thirty-five. 

Then  the  singing  was  very  fine,  and  Martha 
Sumner's  voice  rose  above  all  the  rest,  lifting  the 
congregation  to  heaven,  and  consoling  crowds  at 
the  doors  and  windows,  who  could  not  press  near 
enough  to  hear  the  sermon ;  or  see  the  row  of  child- 
ren, like  white  doves  cooing  in  the  two  front  pews, 
that  received  baptism  from  the  pastor's  hand  at  the 
close  of  service. 

Arthur  enjoyed  that  day  far  better  than  the  dedi- 


THE    WEDDING.  297 

cation  at  Hampden,  for  he  saw  fatlier,  mother,  sis- 
ter and  brother  there ;  and,  glancing  at  Sydney 
Tyler,  he  observed  that  his  soul  had  eyes  to  see 
already  into  heaven,  and  he  knew  his  blind  brother 
had  a  home  that  no  intruder  might  usurp.  And 
beholding  Mrs.  Tyler  at  his  side,  he  discovered  her 
tears  were  glittering  with  smiles.  He  remembered 
she  once  carried  home  a  stray  little  lamb,  and  nursed 
it,  and  soothed  its  fluttering  heart ;  and  he  knew 
she  had  a  warm  home  now  to  reward  her,  and  a 
downy  pillow  for  her  widowed  and  weary  head. 

Arthur  enjoyed  the  whole  week  as  one  of  the 
happiest  seasons  of  his  life.  The  world  was  seldom 
arrayed  in  more  beautiful  garments,  or  scented  with 
more  pleasant  sweets.  Although  it  was  August, 
when  the  air  is  usually  sultry,  and  the  aspect  of 
nature  is  dull  and  stale,  that  memorable  week  was 
really  as  rich  as  June  or  September.  Refreshing 
rains  had  renewed  all  the  verdures  that  met  the  eye, 
and  the  sun,  as  yellow  as  a  marigold,  rekindled 
them  to  a  hue  that  shamed  an  emerald. 

Snowy  flocks  and  shiny  herds  were  feeding  on 

the  hill-sides.     The  summer  harvests  had  just  been 

gathered,   and  the   stubble-fields   glittered  in   the 

glowing  days.      Buckwheat  had  not  shed   all  its 

blossoms,  and  the  bees  were  sipping  the  last  honey 

from  its  cups.     Men  in  the  clover  were  mowing 

rowen.     Stately  stacks  on  the  hay-fields  enriched 

the   riant  landscape,   and  the   soft   after-grass   on 
13* 


298  THE    WEDDING. 

tlie  long,  level  meadows,  was  velvet  to  the  foot,  and 
refreshment  to  the  eye. 

The  orchards  bent  with  unusual  burdens,  and 
sweetened  the  air  with  their  ruddy  fruit.  Harvest 
peaches  displayed  their  crimson  cheeks,  and  grew 
mellow  every  morning.  Quinces  were  beginning 
to  mingle  their  fragrance  with  other  sweets  of  the 
air.  Bannered  cornfields  swayed  in  the  breeze,  like 
embattled  legions  at  a  Cassar's  beck.  The  walnuts 
and  chestnuts  in  the  woods  gave  stronger  and  more 
delightful  odors  to  mingle  with  the  scents  of  the 
leaves  and  sumac  berries,  sassafras  bark,  pine  boughs, 
and  bitter-sweet  berries. 

Wild  cherries  were  ripe,  and  the  journeying 
robins  were  making  their  passover  feast  on  their 
fruit.  Choke  cherries  were  ripe,  and  hung  like 
profusions  of  amber-beads  on  the  trees,  while  boys 
were  taking  them  off  with  the  loaded  branches. 
The  broad  farms  of  Sydney  never  looked  finer ;  the 
handsome  farm-houses  never  looked  whiter,  and  the 
crowded  barns  and  abundant  dairies  never  called 
plenty  more  vividly  to  view. 

The  farmers  had  leisure  for  a  visit  and  a  feast. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sumner  were  almost  as  happy  as  Ar- 
thur and  Martha,  for  all  the  Fabenses  were  there, 
from  the  day  before  dedication,  and  Arthur  and 
Martha  were  married  the  day  after.  The  Fabenses 
came  on  to  enjoy  that  festival.  They  were  married 
at  Mrs.  Sumner's,  and  the  Queen  of  the  Fields 


THE     WEDDING.  299 

opened  wide  doors,  and  set  long  and  sumptuous 
tables, 

A  great  many  guests  were  invited  to  the  mar- 
riage. The  Summertons  were  there.  The  Bronks 
were  there.  The  Dales  were  there,  in  weeds  for  a 
dear  departed  daughter.  And  Euleff  Gordon  came, 
though  mourning  the  death  of  his  wife.  Mrs,  Tyler 
came  with  her  daughter,  and  blind  Sydney  followed 
half  an  hour  after,  led  by  faithful  Eanger,  with  a 
laughing  smile  on  his  face,  and  his  flute  in  his  hand ; 
accounting  for  his  delay  by  saying  he  stopped  on 
the  Maxy  meadows  to  enjoy  the  odor  of  the  wild 
grapes  and  bee-balm,  when  a  robin  gave  him  three 
challenges  for  music,  and  he  exchanged  with  her 
three  tunes. 

Last  of  all,  yet  in  the  best  season,  came  a  white 
horse  over  the  hill,  on  a  gentle  jog,  and  half  a  dozen 
voices  cried :  "  There  are  Father  Dil worth  and  his 
wife!"  In  they  came  rejoicing,  and  the  people 
knew  they  brought  the  kingdom  of  heaven  in  their 
hearts.  Mrs.  Dilworth  looked  remarkably  well  in 
her  tasty  cap,  gold  beads,  and  black  Italian  gown ; 
and  had  you  seen  her  reverend  husband  in  those 
freshly-dimpling  smiles,  that  new  wig,  coat,  vest, 
and  pantaloons,  and  observed  or  heard  his  new 
Suwarrows,  as  he  lightly  stepped  around  the  room, 
you  would  certainly  have  taken  him  for  one  of  the 
young  men,  and  might,  in  his  own  hearing,  have 
inquired:  "Is  not  Father  Dilworth  to  be  here?" 


300  THE    WEDDING. 

We  still  insist  that  a  country  wedding  is  among 
tlie  happiest  things  on  which  the  heavens  smile,  and 
Mrs.  Sumner's  was  the  place  for  a  country  wedding 
in  all  its  abounding  bliss.  The  rooms  of  her  house 
were  large  and  pleasant,  and  baskets  of  apples  and 
peaches,  set  in  them  over  night,  to  perfume  them, 
left  an  odor  more  delicious  than  the  sweetest  flowers 
of  Araby  could  give. 

The  grounds  of  that  home  were  delightful  to  en- 
joy,  for  a  colonnade  of  elms  and  maples  formed  a 
magnificent  peristyle  for  the  house;  and  there 
was  a  fine  garden,  with  a  green  pasture,  and  herds 
and  flocks  beyond  it  on  the  north ;  a  stubble-field, 
tufted  with  trees,  and  smooth  as  a  parlor  floor,  in- 
clining warmly  to  the  western  sun,  and  bordered 
with  oak  and  chestnut  woods,  on  the  east;  an 
orchard  on  the  south,  perfuming  the  wind  with  its 
dropping  fruit ;  and  on  the  west  a  bee-house,  wifh. 
straw  hives ;  then  a  hay-field  studded  with  stacks, 
and  the  western  sun  turning  all  into  radiant  green 
and  gold ;  then  the  brilliant  blue  lake,  sleeping  in 
the  distance,  and  filling  the  remoter  glances  of  the 
eye;  while  wooded  hills  beyond,  at  last  met  the 
yellow  sun,  and  shut  his  warm  glory  from  their 
sight. 

About  three  o'clock  the  company  were  called 
together,  and  happier  faces  nobody  ever  saw,  and  a 
happier  ceremony  nobody  desired  to  hear,  than  that 


THE     W  E  D  D  I  X  G .  801 

whicli  pronounced  Artliur  Sumner  Fabens,  and 
Martha  Sumner,  husband  and  wife. 

Not  a  tear  was  shed  for  the  bridegroom  or  the 
bride,  and  no  grief  was  felt,  except  for  some  dead 
or  suffering  friend,  who  could  not  be  present  to 
share  their  joj.  Soon  after  thej  were  married,  the 
company  sat  down  to  supper,  and  such  a  supper  of 
all  the  fresh  luxuries  of  a  country  home !  We  will 
not  attempt  to  describe  it ;  nor  the  merry  time  that 
followed,  with  the  old  folks  talkins;  a  continual 
round  with  every  tongue  in  the  house;  and  the 
young  folks  dancing  and  sporting  on  the  green; 
nor  the  mirth  that  echoed  to  the  woods,  when  Mar- 
tha Fabens  snapped  Billy  Bronk  into  the  ring,  just 
to  give  her  old  friend  a  brace  of  her  rosiest  good- 
bye kisses  !  Nor  what  a  wide,  warm  kiss,  right  up 
from  Billy's  heart,  Martha  took  in  return ;  nor  how 
Arthur  and  Mrs.  Bronk  laughed  and  enjoyed  it. 
No,  we  need  not  describe  it.  The  reader  is  there 
in  the  midst  of  the  scene,  and  he  knows  that  Father 
Dil worth  gets  a  good  fee,  beside  the  jar  of  white 
honey,  the  fine  roll  of  butter,  and  that  large  anotta- 
hued  cheese,  which  Mrs.  Sumner  slips,  with  stealthy 
hands,  under  the  seat  of  his  carriage. 

And  when  they  must  break  up  and  separate, 
many  of  them  perhaps  never  to  meet  again  on 
earth,  you  can  hardly  suppress  a  sigh  of  grief,  as 
you  see  how  their  hearts  cling  together,  and  what 


302  THE    WEDDING. 

an  effort  tliey  make,  all  in  sadness,  to  tear  them  at 
last  asunder. 

They  exchange  farewells,  and  go.  Billy  Bronk 
says  to  the  wedded  pair,  "  A  smooth  sea,  and  the 
briskest  breezes !"  and  Father  Dil worth,  "  The  wings 
of  angels  shelter  you,  the  oil  of  gladness  anoint 
you,  and  the  balm  of  Gilead  heal  your  griefs !" 
Sydney  Tyler,  unable  to  say  good-bye,  steals  away 
before  night ;  while  young  men  and  maidens,  old 
men  and  children,  give  their  good  wishes,  and  de- 
part in  grief 

On  the  next  morning  early,  they  started  for  Sum- 
merfield.  The  Fabenses  claimed  the  largest  right 
to  their  son ;  the  Sumners  were  not  selfish,  and 
Martha  was  quite  pleased  to  reside  in  Summerfield, 
when  she  knew  she  might  visit  her  parents  and 
friends  as  often  as  she  wished.  A  fine  piece  of 
ground  had  been  surveyed  for  them  on  his  father's 
farm,  and  both  fathers  insisted  on  aiding  in  the 
erection  of  a  house  for  Martha's  beautiful  furni- 
ture ;  a  house  not  inferior  to  the  one  they  left  in 
Sydney,  and  better  if  they  wished. 

And  would  not  Arthur  take  pride  in  building 
that  house,  as  his  first  work  in  Summerfield?  And 
were  there  not  golden  years  before  him  yet  to  study 
architecture,  and  design  and  build  houses  in  country 
and  in  town?  What,  then,  could  hinder  their  hav- 
ing the  happiest  ride,  with  father,  mother,  brother 
and  sister,  through  a  region  that  smiled  like  a  gar- 


THE     \YEDDING.  803 

den  all  tlie  way?  Nothing,  certainly,  but  the 
thought  of  leaving  so  many  dear  friends  behind. 
But  with  promises  of  visits  to  be  given  and  re- 
ceived, that  could  not  be  gloomy,  and  they  took 
great  pleasure  from  the  day.  At  a  lovely  hour 
they  sat  down  in  the  Fabens  mansion,  and,  after 
baths  and  tea,  which  cooled  and  refreshed  them, 
they  felt  like  conversing  on  the  ways  of  Providence 
and  life. 

"A  sad,  sad  night  we  had  of  it  here,  Clinton," 
said  Squire  Fabens,  "after  the  Indian  took  you 
away.  And  those  were  nights,  and  days,  and  years 
of  sadness,  that  followed.  And  then  it  was  very 
hard  to  see  how  any  good  could  come  of  it.  But 
now  I  see  differently,  and  the  mystery  of  the  evil 
is  nearly  all  cleared  up  to  my  mind.  We  are  none 
of  us  worse  off  now,  at  any  rate,  for  it ;  but  I  can 
hardly  see  why  you  had  to  endure  that  cruel  or- 
phanage, when  you  had  a  good  home  in  the  world ; 
and  why  so  many  were  so  unkind  to  you." 

"  I  have  had  many  sad  heart-struggles  to  bear  it," 
replied  Clinton,  "  and  sometimes  I  actually  felt  that 
God  was  unkind,  and  I  ought  to  hate  him  for  per- 
mitting it.  Then  a  lofty  sense  of  his  goodness 
would  come  over  me,  and  something  would  seem  to 
rebuke  my  impiet}'-,  and  say,  '  Wait  till  summer, 
and  see  the  fruits  these  April  rains  will  bring!' 
Your  old  Mr.  Lovelight  set  me  thinking,  and  now 
I  can  see  much  good  in  the  orphanage  I  endured. 


304  THE    WEDDING. 

Your  fondness  for  an  only  son  might  have  ruined 
me,  while  the  lessons  of  that  early  adversity  educated 
my  will,  (how  the  education  of  the  will  is  neglected, 
father!)  gave  me  a  more  robust  constitution,  and 
taught  me  self-reliance.  And  see  here !  what  is 
better  than  all,  I  found  Martha  Sumner,  and  I  am 
sure,  if  she  does  hear  me,  she  is  worth  all  the  trouble 
I  have  seen." 

Martha  turned  her  face,  in  a  flaming  blush,  to 
the  door,  and  said :  "  You  may  tell  a  different 
story,  by-and-by ;"  and  the  Squire  continued — 
"  Clinton,  you  are  right.  I  wonder  I  did  not  think 
of  that,  when  you  have  brought  her  to  pay  us  for 
our  troubles  as  well  as  yours.  But  there  were  those 
taunts  and  sneers  about  your  origin,  and  the  morti- 
fications and  griefs,  the  unkind  laid  upon  your 
heart." 

"  They  only  weaned  me  from  too  much  love  of 
praise,  and  sent  me  within  myself,  and  up  to  God 
for  approbation ;  prompted  me  to  indomitable  efforts 
to  know  something,  and  be  somebody ;  attached  me 
to  friends,  taught  me  how  to  judge  human  nature, 
and  know  the  ways  of  the  world.  O,  I  could  think, 
if  I  had  time,  of  a  hundred  things  wherein  it  did 
me  good,  seasoned  and  locked  the  timbers  of  my 
life,  rounded  me  off  like  a  Pantlieouic  temple,  and 
prepared  me  for  this  hour  of  honorable  joy." 

"But  there  was  that  cruel  Popinjay  conspiracy." 

"  That  trial,  too,  refined  my  character,  and  made 


THE    WEDDIXG.  305 

my  manhood  stockier  and  stronger,  while  I  can 
better  appreciate  a  good  name  and  friends,  remem- 
ber the  trooping  snow  birds  that  twitter  of  love  in 
the  winter  storm,  and  know  the  blessed  sweets  of 
forgiveness.  Father,  I  hioio  I  am  better  off  for 
that  trial.  And  what  money  could  buy  the  satis- 
faction I  feel  in  returning,  as  I  have,  too  poorly,  the 
kindness  Mrs.  Tyler  and  Sydney  gave  me  when  I 
needed  a  home  and  sympathizing  friends  ?  And 
what  a  lesson  it  has  given  them  of  the  power  and 
beauty  of  kindness,  and  the  sure  return  of  every 
charitable  gift !  They  shall  never  want  for  friends 
or  assistance,  while  I  can  lend  them  aid." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right,  Clinton.  I  was  only 
sounding  your  mind  a  little.  You  see  it  in  the 
true  light,  and,  as  Father  Lovelight  said — "  God 
brought  good  out  of  evil,  and  made  all  things  beau- 
tiful in  his  time." 

"John  Spiller  prayed  that  he  might  die  at  the 
foot  of  a  noble  statue  he  was  sculpturing,  and  so 
will  I  die  at  last,  or  wish  to  die,  in  the  door  of  that 
temple  of  beauty  I  design  to  finish  with  my  life. 
And  the  art  I  have  acquired,  is  so  much  wealth 
and  pleasure,  is  it  not,  Martha  ?" 

"  That  indeed  it  is,  and  your  life  and  labors  call 
to  mind  a  stanza  in  our  favorite  Beattie — 

'Vigor  from  toil,  from  trouble  patience  grows, 

The  weakly  blossom  warm  in  summer  bower, 
Some  tints  of  transient  beauty  may  disclose, 
But  ah  !  it  withers  in  the  chilling  hour. 


300  THE    WEDDING. 

Mark  yonder  oaks  !  superior  to  the  power 
Of  all  the  warring  winds  of  heaven  they  rise, 

And  from  the  stormy  promontory  tower, 
And  toss  their  giant  arms  amid  the  skies, 

While  each  assailing  blast  increase  of  strength  supplies.'  " 

"  That  describes  Clinton  exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Fa- 
bens,  "and  that  is  fine  poetry.  I  have  often  thought 
of  that  figure  of  the  oak.  What  a  lesson  of  patience 
it  teaches  us  too.  How  long  it  takes  God  to  make 
and  mature  a  tree  that  grows  to  any  greatness! 
How  he  prepares  the  soil,  and  sows  the  seed,  and 
brings  up  the  plant ;  how  he  shakes  it  with  winds, 
and  beats  it  with  storms.  How  he  bends  and  bows 
it  in  the  tempest ;  how  patiently  he  waits  for  the 
plant  from  the  seedling ;  for  the  sapling  from  the 
plant ;  for  the  oak  from  the  sapling !" — 

"The  grand  old  oak,"  interrupted  Clinton,  "that 
blooms  in  the  centuries,  and  holds  up  its  arms  and 
thanks  him  for  his  rain  and  sunshine,  and  bears  for 
a  thousand  years  the  fruits  of  his  care  and  love !" 

"  Where  did  you  say  you  read  the  poetry,  Mar- 
tha?" asked  the  Squire.  "Pope  is  about  all  the 
poet  I  have  read  much.  I  like  the  logic  he  clinches 
with  his  ringing  rhymes.  I  like  Burns  and  Gold- 
smith also,  but  I  am  ignorant  of  the  others.  I  like 
that,  though — whose  is  it  ?" 

"Beattie's,"  interrupted  Fanny.  "I  am  sure  I 
have  read  it  to  you,  father,  from  the  Minstrel, 
and  it  reminds  me  of  the  stanza  opening  the 
fourth  canto  of  the  'Lady  of  the  Lake,'  which  I 


THE    WEDDING.  307 

read  to  you  on  the  Cayuga  shore  last  week.  But  I 
cannot  quote  so  promptly  as  Martha." 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  getting  late,"  said  the  Squire, 
starting  as  if  alarmed,  *'  and  we  have  not  had  a  song 
to-night.  Come,  let  us  all  step  out  on  the  green, 
and  enjoy  this  harvest  moonlight  a  few  minutes ; 
and  you,  Martha,  give  us  one  of  your  sweet  songs, 
and  Fanny  shall  sing  her  best ;  and  then  we  will 
have  a  pleasant  sleep,  and  continue  our  feast  to- 
morrow on  the  lake-shore." 

They  formed  a  circle  on  the  green,  in  view  of  the 
woods  and  lake,  and  enjoyed  the .  moonlight  that 
was  flowing  over  the  world;  Martha  and  Fanny 
sang  their  songs,  the  family  retired  to  welcome  pil- 
lows, and  the  splendid  dawn  that  succeeded,  awoke 
them  all  to  years  of  happiness,  hope,  and  peace. 


XXII. 

THE    END. 

The  next  day  broke  in  beauty,  the  sun  dried  the 
dew,  and  the  Fabenses  went  down  to  the  lake-shore, 
and  had  a  family  pic-nic.  William  Fabens,  a  cousin 
of  the  Squire's,  whom  the  reader  of  "  Summerfield  " 
may  remember,  had  been  long  expected  on  another 
visit  from  the  city,  and  he  arrived  soon  after  they 
left  the  house,  and  followed  them  down  to  the 
beach.  Half  a  dozen  neighbors  also  were  there, 
and  they  had  a  pleasant  time.  Every  one  enjoyed 
every  thing  about  it ;  the  day,  the  scene,  the  boating 
and  walking,  refreshments,  conversations,  and  songs. 

Arthur  was  particularly  pleased  with  his  cousin 
William,  and  they  conversed  together  much  of  the 
time.  They  conversed  on  architecture,  and  were 
glad  to  find  each  other  so  much  at  home  in  the 
theme.  They  directed  each  other's  attention  to  the 
types  of  architecture.  The  vault  of  the  arching 
sky,  and  the  sphere  of  the  green  horizon,  were  ad- 
duced once  more  as  types  of  its  curves  and  circles. 


THE    END.  309 

The  lake  was  a  mirror  of  its  surfaces,  the  trees 
typed  its  pillars,  the  leaves  typed  its  windows,  the 
shells  typed  its  winding  volutes ;  and  there  was  not 
a  pebble  on  the  beach,  but  recalled  the  enrichments 
on  the  frieze  of  the  Erechtheum,  nor  a  row  of  silver 
poplars  along  the  shelving  bank  above  them,  but 
hinted  remotely  the  beautiful  portico  of  the  Carya- 
tides. 

William  was  warm  in  his  praise  of  city  architec- 
ture, and,  before  they  left  the  beach,  Arthur  re- 
solved in  his  mind  to  visit  New  York,  and  enlarge 
his  studies,  and  make  engagements  there.  Martha 
was  deliglited  with  the  idea  of  his  going,  and  his 
father  and  mother  at  last  encouraged  the  step.  The 
autumn  passed  very  pleasantly  amid  home  and  field 
enjoyments,  preparations  for  a  house  he  designed  to 
build  in  Summerfield,  and  arrangements  for  his 
visit  to  the  city. 

It  was  a  settled  fact  that  they  would  have  their 
home  on  the  Cayuga,  although  for  a  few  years  they 
would  spend  much  time  abroad ;  and  the  ground 
which  had  been  set  off  to  Arthur,  was  graded  and  set 
with  trees,  with  the  expectation  of  building,  another 
season.  It  was  the  most  romantic  little  nook  on 
his  father's  farm,  and  Claude  or  Turner  would  have 
taken  lofty  inspiration  from  its  scenes.  It  was  the 
identical  place,  according  to  Troffater,  where  the 
Indian  rested  first  with  Clinton,  and  concealed  him 
till  he  was  certain  he  was  not  observed  or  followed. 


310  THE    END. 

It  was  a  beautiful  mound,  in  a  pleasant  valley,  in 
full  view  of  the  lake. 

There  was  already  a  magnificent  grove  of  walnut 
trees,  about  two  hundred  yards  in  the  rear,  and  one 
of  the  smaller  tributaries  of  the  lake  dashed  down 
in  white  foam  from  the  hills,  and  formed  the  south- 
ern boundary.  There  were  twenty  acres  of  fertile 
land  in  the  enclosure ;  and  he  now  possessed  it  by 
a  title  deed,  which  the  county  clerk  had  recorded. 
A  fine  public  road  bounded  it  on  the  west,  and 
there  was  a  woodland  on  the  north,  and  sloping 
pastures  on  the  south,  to  beautify  the  landscape. 
Arthur  and  Martha,  with  a  plenty  of  aid,  spent  the 
most  of  November  setting  out  fruit  and  ornamental 
trees  on  the  grounds,  and  breaking  the  soil  for  a 
fine  spring  garden. 

He  also  reviewed  all  his  studies  in  her  company, 
and  on  the  first  of  December  he  went  to  New  York. 
It  was  the  first  long  journey  he  ever  performed,  and 
it  was  never  forgotten.  A  deep  and  early  snow 
had  fallen,  and  the  stages  which  conveyed  him, 
went  on  runners  all  the  way  to  the  city.  And 
though  he  suffered  some  on  the  way,  he  enjoyed 
more  than  he  anticipated.  There  was  a  music  in 
the  names  of  the  villages  and  cities  he  passed ;  and 
Auburn,  Elbridge,  Chittenango,  Utica,  Oriskany, 
Schenectady,  Albany,  Poughkeepsie,  were  ever 
after  the  charms  of  pictorial  memories  in  his  mind. 

He  arrived  in  New  York,  and  made  immediate 


THE    END.  811 

engagements,  through.  William's  assistance,  to  work 
at  the  bench,  for  a  month  or  more,  on  the  finest 
parlor  finishings,  and  also  to  take  lessons  of  one  of 
the  first  architects  of  the  city.  What  he  saw  and 
enjoyed,  what  he  learned  and  did,  was  very  well 
described  in  his  letters  to  Martha. 

"Dearest  Martha,"  (he  wrote  in  his  first  letter,) 
*'  I  shall  never  get  used  to  the  roar  of  these  streets, 
nor  see  an  end  of  all  the  city  Avonders.  But  do 
not  imasfine  from  this,  that  I  am  home-sick.  Far 
from  it.  If  you  were  all  here,  I  could  be  contented 
with  the  city,  summer  and  winter,  for  at  least  three 
years,  and  after  that  1  should  wish  to  spend  only 
my  summers  in  Summerfield.  In  fact,  I  like  the 
excitement  of  all  this  roar,  and  all  this  sight-seeing, 
and  hope  I  may  not  get  so  used  to  it  as  ever  to  meet 
it  with  indifference.  I  receive  great  encourage- 
ments from  my  master,  and  have  no  doubt  but  I 
can  rely,  henceforth,  on  my  talent  as  an  architect, 
without  ever  lifting  a  plane  again.  I  cannot  step 
into  the  street,  without  reading  fine  lessons  in  my 
art,  and  am  quite  astonished  to  find  something  on 
every  corner,  and  at  almost  every  step,  to  remind 
me  of  the  country  type  from  which  its  beautiful 
form  was  taken. 

"  I  thought  a  few  of  my  buildings  in  Hampden 
and  Sydney  were  very  good  for  me;  but  I  am 
quite  ashamed  of  them  now,  I  have  seen  so  many 
things,  called   common  here,  that  surpass   them. 


812  THE    END. 

But  if  we  were  satisfied  with  our  past  eflforts,  how 
would  we  ever  excel  them,  or  attain  to  that  round 
and  lofty  stature  we  are  promised  at  last  to  possess? 
I  take  courage  in  this  dissatisfaction,  and  mean  to 
apply  myself,  and  continue  to  improve  until  no 
man's  work  in  America  shall  cast  rejDroach  upon 
mine. 

"And  I  think  far  more  of  the  talent  and  art 
which  may  some  day  accomplish  such  works  as  I 
have  seen  here,  than  of  the  vv^orks  themselves,  or 
the  pecuniary  reward,  however  ample,  which  they 
may  secure  me ;  and  I  am  glad  you  sympathize 
wdth  me,  and  are  yourself  such  an  amateur  in  the 
science  and  beauty  of  architecture.  The  works  I 
have  seen  in  churches  and  other  public  edifices  here, 
are  beautiful — many  of  them  sublime ;  but  is  not 
the  genius  that  produced  them,  a  more  sublime  or- 
nament to  this  great  city,  than  the  proudest  piece 
of  art  which  it  can  boast? 

"I  long  not  for  immortality  on  earth,  but  I  do 
long  for  the  satisfaction  which  the  successful  artist 
enjoys,  and  admire  his  genius  far  above  his  works. 
Pericles  is  immortal  for  causing  Athens  to  be  adorn- 
ed with  the  splendors  of  art,  and  the  age  of  Pericles 
is  remembered  for  the  statues  he  reared,  the  temples 
he  built,  and  the  beauty  and  grandeur  in  which  he 
clothed  her  streets.  But  the  genius  and  public 
spirit  of  Pericles  were  grander  ornaments  than  the 
Parthenon,  or  Odeum,  or  sculptured  Pallas  with  her 


THE     END.  313 

golden  sandals.  And  the  genius  of  Phidias  and  Cal- 
licrates  made  that  age  pictorial  with  intellectual 
grandeurs,  of  which  their  works  were  simple  types. 
I  confess  myself  ambitious  of  an  artist's  satisfaction, 
and  of  furnishing  at  least  a  fillet  or  modillion  for 
the  temple  of  our  nation's  fame." 

"  Since  I  came  here,"  (he  wrote  in  his  second  let- 
ter,) "I  have  formed  a  more  definite  idea  of  St. 
John's  vision  of  New  Jerusalem,  and  that  vision 
has  haunted  me  night  and  day.  I  hardly  know 
why  it  is  so.  New  York  is  not  a  New  Jerusalem 
in  morals  or  intelligence  3'et ;  no,  nor  in  architec- 
ture either;  but  the  sight  of  the  great  city  has 
given  me  very  strange  ideas,  and  I  have  gone  to  the 
Bible,  and  read  that  vision  over  and  over  again. 

"  What  a  history  of  infinite  progression  does  the 
Bible  itself  give  from  the  darkness  and  strife  of 
chaos,  in  Genesis,  to  that  time  described  in  Revela- 
tion, when  the  earth  will  be  perfected,  and  pcoj^led 
with  men  and  women,  who  shall  live  in  a  holy  city, 
and  rejoice  in  one  communion  of  wisdom,  love  and 
bliss ! 

"  The  highest  name  of  society,  the  highest  type 
of  social  perfection,  I  suppose,  is  a  pure  and  en- 
lightened city,  and  John  took  the  city  as  a  figure 
to  describe  the  highest  state  of  perfection  and  peace 
on  earth.  The  vastness  and  sublimity  of  his  vision 
strike  me  with  so  much  awe,  I  tremble  as  I  think 

of  describing  my  new  thoughts  of  it  to  you.     How 
14 


314  THE    E  X  D  , 

can  I  describe  them  in  colors  you  can  see,  after  you 
have  re-perused  his  account,  and  found  the  flaming 
gold  of  its  buildings,  and  the  sapphires  and  chrys- 
olites, the  jacinths  and  jaspers  blazing  on  your 
sight?  But  I  may  help  you  fasten  a  few  of  its 
beauties  on  your  mind.  Consider  its  situation.  It 
is  eminent.  It  stands  on  a  great  high  mountain, 
and  overlooks  the  earth.  It  stands  on  the  moral 
Mount  Zion,  and,  to  enter  its  gates,  we  have  first 
to  rise  on  our  moral  course,  beset  with  obstacles 
often,  and  press  through  glooms  and  perils.  But 
as  we  overcome  obstacles,  as  we  mount  one  after 
another  summit  of  purity  and  knowledge,  as  I  un- 
derstand it,  the  city  will  grow  on  our  sight,  and  we 
will  hope  soon  to  enter  its  gates. 

"Next  consider  the  structure  of  the  city.  St. 
John  says  it  was  pure  gold,  and  he  describes  it,  j^ou 
know,  as  adorned  with  the  most  splendid  and  mag- 
nificent things.  It  stands  on  twelve  foundations  of 
twelve  precious  stones.  It  has  a  quadrangular 
wall,  massive  and  high,  enriched  with  blazing 
jewels.  It  has  twelve  splendid  gates  in  its  walls, 
three  on  every  side ;  every  gate  is  a  pearl,  and  the 
light  of  the  city  is  like  jasper  and  crystal. 

"And  think,  Martha!  what  must  be  the  moral 
grandeur  and  intellectual  glory  of  a  city,  whose  real 
splendors,  after  all,  can  be  no  more  than  hinted  by 
these  bright  material  emblems  ?  "What  must  be 
the  refinements  represented   bj'  this  pure   gold? 


THE    END.  815 

What  must  be  the  liberties  represented  by  all  these 
rich  and  varied  lights?  What  must  be  the  justice 
of  its  laws,  represented  by  the  four  square  form, 
which  you  know  was  the  symbol  of  perfection? 
The  splendors  of  genius  and  excellence  that  shine 
from  its  citizens,  when  all  these  costly  stones  and 
pearls  but  faintly  figure  their  brilliance !  And  what 
structure  of  glory  could  have  been  set  before  our 
eyes,  to  cheer  our  hopes,  lift  our  endeavors,  and 
attract  our  souls,  with  such  resistless  allurings,  as 
this  bridal  city  of  the  Lord  ? 

"  Then  consider  the  size.  The  city  was  12,000 
furlongs  long,  and  12,000  furlongs  wide  and  high ; 
almost  a  world  of  itself!  Then  what  scenery! 
The  green,  moral  scenery  of  that  city  is  pictured 
to  us  in  the  charms  of  country  beauty.  There 
are  the  mountains  of  myrrh,  and  the  hills  of  frank- 
incense, as  some  other  sacred  writer  foretold. 
There  are  the  tree  of  life,  the  river  of  salvation, 
the  garden  of  the  Lord. 

"  Then  the  society.  '  The  nations  of  the  saved 
walk  there,'  says  St.  John;  and  others  enlarge  the 
vision,  the  meaning  of  whose  words  must  be,  that 
we  shall  be  brought,  by  purit}^  and  faith,  into  inti- 
mate and  felt  relations  with  God,  and  Christ,  and 
angels,  for  the  wall  of  sense  will  be  rent  away,  and 
the  good  and  pure  of  all  nations  will  be  neighbors. 

"And  what  a  change  there  must  be  from  what 
we  see  in  the  world  in  our  daj- !     There  will  be  no 


816  THE     END. 

close  communion  there.  We  may  expect  to  see 
varieties  of  mind  among  all  who  shine  in  the  light 
of  the  Lord,  as  the  mountains  and  vales,  the  woods, 
and  fields,  and  flowers  absorb  and  reflect  varieties 
of  color  in  the  sun.  But  we  shall  hail  the  sjDirit  of 
unity,  and  welcome  and  love  all  as  they  enter  in 
purity  there. 

"1  hope  I  am  not  fatiguing  j^ou,  Martha,  but  this 
subject  affects  me  so  powerfullj^,  I  must  take  another 
half  sheet,  and  give  you  a  few  more  thoughts  it  has 
awakened  in  my  mind.  The  advantage  of  living 
in  a  city,  arises  (I  conclude  from  my  short  experi- 
ence) from  the  more  society,  and  the  multiplied  num- 
ber of  resources  which  that  society  afibrds  for  social 
and  intellectual  culture  and  delight.  How  happily  se- 
lected, therefore,  was  the  idea  of  predicting  the  most 
perfect  Christian  society,  in  the  sjmibol  of  a  cit}^, 
whose  inhabitants  are  all  enlightened  and  pare, 
whose  gates  stand  open  night  and  day ;  whose  airs 
are  sweetened  by  fragrance  sent  in  from  woods  and 
meadows  of  peace  and  libertj-,  whose  proud  domes 
effuloje  briu-ht  moral  ^•lories,  and  whoso  houses  are 
warmed  by  the  ardors  of  love ! 

"And  has  that  state  ever  come  on  earth?  Has 
that  city  been  established  ?  jSTot  among  any  one 
people.  No  single  church  is  pure  or  harmonious 
enough  to  fulfil  the  revelator's  vision.  But  I  think 
it  has  a  real  spiritual  existence.  It  is  the  city  of  all 
mature   disci|)les.      At  present  it  has  not  the  full 


THE     END,  317 

dimensions  that  John  describes.  It  is  young,  and 
not  a  quarter  grown.  It  has  scattered  and  un- 
finished buildings,  and  vacant  squares  and  streets. 
There  are  wide  marshes  and  deserts  without  the 
city  at  no  great  distance,  and  there  the  dragons  still 
crawl ;  there  unclean  beasts  still  howl,  and  unclean 
birds  still  shriek  and  chatter.  But  deserts  can  be 
made  fruitful,  and  marshes  may  be  drained,  and 
cleared,  and  changed  to  green  gardens  of  the  Lord. 
And  so  may  not  the  sinful  and  evil  without  be  con- 
verted, and  love  the  Lord,  and  enter  the  city  at  last 
in  the  white  robes  of  purity  and  peace  ? 

"  That  city  shines  far  in  the  future,  in  perfect 
completion  and  majestic  light,  as  the  hope  of  our 
world.  The  great  human  race  is  marching  toward 
its  gates.  It  will  be  a  great  while,  I  fear,  before 
society,  in  the  mass,  will  get  there,  for  it  meets 
many  perils  and  reverses  on  the  way.  It  has 
sloughs  of  sin  to  pass,  and  summits  of  evil  to  over- 
come. As  I  entered  New  York,  I  was  impressed 
by  the  views  I  had  of  its  domes  and  towers. 
Ascending  a  high  hill,  they  would  all  stand  in 
sight,  and  seem  near  at  hand.  Descending  a  val- 
le}-,  they  would  all  recede  and  disappear,  and  hope 
at  times  almost  forsook  my  heart.  But  the  next 
hill  always  brouglit  new  encouragement,  and  the 
last  one  went  behind  me,  and  I  entered  the  city 
with  joy  and  triumph. 

"So  I  think  it  will  be  with  society  marching 


318  THE    END. 

toward  the  shining  city  of  the  Lord.  We  shall 
pass  hills  of  hope  and  valleys  of  gloom,  but  the 
inarch  will  be  onward  till  the  last  hill  and  valley 
are  behind  us,  and  we  enter  with  all  our  hosts,  and 
taste  its  refreshing  bliss. 

"  At  that  time,  I  trust,  humanity  will  enjoy  her 
perfections,  conflict  and  crime  will  pass  away,  want 
and  wo  will  cease ;  ignorance  will  vanish  before  its 
light ;  and  then  in  full  and  rotund  completion,  flour- 
ishing more  blooms  than  the  artist  painted  on  his 
beauty,  to  whose  charms  the  fairest  maidens  of 
Crotona  lent  their  loveliest  forms  and  smiles,  men 
and  women  will  rejoice  in  autumnal  ripeness,  and 
continue  their  feasts  of  love,  ascend  new  acclivities 
of  light  and  perfection,  expect  new  truths,  discover 
new  harmonies  of  art  and  science,  and  look  for  new 
joys,  that  will  roll  from  the  heavens  for  ever  and 
ever." 

It  is  time  we  brought  our  story  to  a  close.  Ar- 
thur Sumner  found  such  encouragements  in  New 
York,  he  concluded  to  remain  there  a  year,  before 
he  returned  to  Summerfield ;  and,  by  his  earnest 
desire,  Martha  joined  him  in  February,  and  re- 
mained till  July.  'Then,  to  refresh  her  summer 
loves,  and  revive  her  rural  pleasures,  she  returned 
to  her  dear  old  home  on  the  Wallawanda,  and  spent 
four  pleasant  months.  After  that  she  went  back  to 
the  city,  and  remained  there  another  winter. 

Arthur  indulged  his  enthusiasm  in  that  which 


THE     END.  819 

he  had  long  pursued  as  a  fine  art,  and  employed 
his  time  in  the  study  and  practice  of  architecture. 
He  procured  new  books  on  the  subject,  and  enjoyed 
the  instruction  and  society  of  the  first  architects  in 
the  western  world.  Most  of  his  new  friends,  like 
himself,  had  gone  from  the  country,  with  its  foliated 
pictures  and  pillared  memories  in  their  minds,  and 
they  gloried  in  their  origin  and  calling. 

Martha  also  continued  to  study  architecture  for  a 
pastime,  becoming  quite  as  enthusiastic  as  her  hus- 
band, and  expecting,  as  he  suggested,  that  she 
might  need  its  tastes,  and  a  knowledge  of  its  types 
and  principles,  to  study  and  enjoy  the  splendid 
temples  of  heaven. 

They  found  many  excellent  friends  in  the  city, 
who  enjoyed  their  society  all  the  more  for  the  rich 
country  nature  they  possessed.  They  attended  the 
best  lectures.  They  procured  access  to  public  libra- 
ries. They  visited  halls  of  learning,  and  galleries 
of  art.  They  met  with  a  circle  of  friends  every 
week  to  enjoy  conversation,  and  read  the  last  new 
book.  They  attended  dancing-parties,  and  loved 
to  see  others  enjoy  that  beautiful  amusement ;  while, 
for  themselves,  they  said,  "  We  would  rather  read 
gracefully,  than  dance  gracefully,  if  but  one  accom- 
plishment could  be  ours ;  for  a  fine  tone  of  the  voice 
is  far  more  beautiful  than  a  shake  or  shuffle  of  the 
foot.  Clowns  may  dance  gracefully,  but  good  and 
graceful  readers  we  know  are  very  few." 


i320  THE    END. 

They  Avere  plenscd  with  many  pliases  of  city  life. 
They  saw  the  contrasts  of  weahh  and  Avant,  of  joy 
and  grief,  as  they  never  had  seen  them  in  the  conn- 
trj'-.  And  if  the  bright  side  of  the  picture  was 
pleasant,  and  the  dark,  repulsive,  the  contemplation 
of  both  ennobled  them,  by  the  lessons  whicli  it 
gave.  Sights  of  want  and  suffering,  in  particular, 
made  them  wiser  and  better.  They  were  painful 
to  their  inexperienced  hearts,  and  they  could  not 
clear  up  the  mystery  which  veiled  the  purpose  of 
such  evils.  But  they  read  instructive  lessons  from 
them.  Many  are  hardened  by  fomiliarity  with  suf- 
fering. Persons  who  cannot  refrain  from  indiscri- 
minate charity  on  first  entering  the  town,  very  soon 
grow  indifferent,  and  seem  to  end  with  hearts  of 
stone. 

But  on  Arthur  Fabens  and  his  wife,  the  effect  of 
such  scenes  was  ennobling,  for  they  remained  true 
to  their  human  instincts,  and  took  the  j^rofit  of  the 
lessons.  Familiaritj^,  indeed,  temjAed  them  to  in- 
difference, but  they  resisted  temptation,  and  the 
moral  exercise,  like  that  employed  in  resisting  other 
evils,  enlarged  and  enriched  their  souls  in  all  the 
gallant  sympathies  that  range  on  Pity's  side ;  and 
they  grew  agile  in  walks  of  charity,  and  discerned 
grief,  and  considered  duty  with  sharper-sighted  eyes. 

Moving  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  mendicity, 
meeting  face  to  face  with  wo,  dwelling  side  by  side 
with' hollow  show  and  splendid  dissij^ation,  broken 


THE    END.  321 

from  their  dreams,  and  dragged  from  their  table,  by- 
frequent  cries  for  shelter  and  bread,  thej  were  con- 
tinually reminded,  not  only  of  the  vices  and  needs 
of  man,  but  of  their  brotherhood  with  all  classes 
of  the  race,  and  their  duties  to  them.  They  needed 
not  to  study  Hogarth's  pictures  to  learn  the  "pro- 
gress "  of  vice ;  they  needed  no  Shakspeare  to  give 
them  the  dramas  of  crime  and  tragedy,  for  the  pic- 
tures and  dramas  were  daily  before  them,  "  holding 
the  mirror  up  to  Nature ;  showing  Virtue  her  own 
feature.  Vice  her  own  image,  and  the  very  age  and 
body  of  the  time,  its  form  and  pressure." 

Arthur  was  successful  in  his  profession,  and  sent 
frequent  assistance  to  the  Tylers,  and  frequent  joy 
to  his  friends.  Two  years  after  his  first  visit  to  the 
city,  he  returned  with  his  wife,  and  built  a  beauti- 
ful cottage  in  their  little  rural  nook  on  the  Cayuga, 
furnished  it  well,  and  enriched  it  with  a  fine  library, 
and  resided  there  while  he  performed  many  engage- 
ments, for  churches  and  other  public  edifices,  in 
Western  and  Central  New  York.  Occasionally, 
they  repaired  to  the  city,  and  remained  a  few 
months ;  then  returned  to  Summerfield,  and  enjoyed 
their  home. 

Three  years  after  their  marriage,  Mrs.  Tyler  died, 

and  Jane  and  her  family  occupied  the  home  on  the 

"Wallawanda,  while  Sydney  became  a  welcome  and 

permanent  inmate  of  their  home  on  the  Cayuga, 

and  gray  old  Ranger  also  found  there  a  warm  shel- 
14* 


822  THE    END. 

ter  and  comfortable  bed,  for  tlie  fleeting  season  he 
bad  to  bve. 

Martha  became  a  woman  of  rare  and  ripe  devel- 
opment, lovely  in  person,  pure  in  spirit,  and  graced 
with  all  that  sweet  coalescence  of  light  and  shade, 
which  glows  on  the  fairest  pictures  Correggio  pro- 
duced. And  Arthur — who  was  so  near  being  given 
to  the  Indians,  before  he  could  choose  his  friends, 
and  becoming  a  Pontiac — was  now  a  proud  Palladio, 
and  his  checkered  fortune,  and  persistent  endeavors, 
had  carried  him  up  to  majestic  perfection,  and 
blended  all  his  gifts  and  graces  into  one,  as  a  sculp- 
tor would  a  statue,  an  architect  a  temple,  or  melo- 
dist a  tune. 


JUST     PUBLISHED, 

THE  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

FITZ-GREEN  HALLECK. 

NEW  AND  ONLY  COMPLETE  EDITION. 

One  Volu?ne,  12mo.^  Cloth — Peice  $1. 

"  Halleck's  sparkling  qualities  were  long  ago  developed,  but  no  successor  has  arisen  to 
dispute  his  suprnmacy  in  his  peculiar  line.  The  delicacy  of  touch,  the  music  of  versi- 
fication, the  finish  and  point  of  satire,  and  the  magic  of  genius,  are  still  as  visible  aa 
when  they  first  arrested  the  puhlic  admiration,  and  made  Halluck  one  of  the  foremost 
of  the  poets  of  the  country." — New  York  EvangtUst. 

"  It  is  related  in  the  Rev.  James  Freeman  Clarke's  account  of  his  travels,  lately  pub- 
lished, that  at  one  of  Rogers's  breakfasts,  the  aged  poet  recited  Halleck's  lines  on  the 
death  of  his  friend  Drake,  and  added  :  'No  man  living  can  verite  such  poetry  now.'  " — 
New  York  Evening  Post. 

"Halleck  is  one  of  the  brishtest  stars  in  our  American  literature,  and  his  name  is 
like  a  household  word  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken." — Alhany  Express. 

"There  are  few  poems  to  be  found,  in  any  language,  that  surpass,  in  beauty  of 
thought  and  structure,  some  of  these." — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  Mr.  Halleck  never  appeared  in  a  better  dress,  and  few  poets  ever  deserved  a  better 
one." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"To  the  numerous  admirers  of  Mr.  Halleck,  this  will  be  a  welcome  book  ;  for  it  is  a 
characteristic  desire  in  human  nature  to  have  the  productions  of  our  favorite  authors 
in  an  elegant  and  substantial  form." — Christian  Freeman. 

"Halleck's  poetry  has  always  been  distinguished  for  easy  versification,  graphic 
description,  exquisite  touches  of  the  pathetic  and  the  humorous  (for  these  two  powers 
are  always  found  combined),  and  for  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  On  the  same 
page  the  reader  will  often  find  the  tender  and  the  droll  so  strangely  intermixed,  that 
the  tear  and  the  smile  will  be  in  each  other's  embraces." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  The  author  of  Marco  Bozzaris  is  already  classical  in  American  literature ;  there 
are  no  sweeter,  quainter,  or  grander  lines  in  our  language,  than  some  that  he  has  pro- 
duced."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  poetry  of  Halleck  should  not  be  confined  to  any  one  class  of  purchasers.  It  ia 
too  genuine  and  national  not  to  find  a  response  in  every  true  and  simple  heart." — 
Christian  Advocate. 

"  Halleck's  fame  is  world-wide,  and  precludes  our  criticism  of  his  poetry." — Farmer 
and  Mechanic. 

"  The  contents  of  this  volume  will  bear  a  reperusal  far  better  than  much  that  is  pub- 
lished under  the  name  of  poetry,  and  making  considerable  pretension,  will  sustain  a 
first  reading.  It  is  only  true  genius  that  gives  to  its  work  a  perpetual  freshness,  inso- 
much that  the  more  frequently  we  return  to  it  the  deeper  is  our  admiration.  The 
publisher  has  issued  the  volume  in  a  style  of  most  unexceptionable  elegance."— TVoy 
Northern  Budget. 

"Without  making  unbecoming  comparisons,  we  may  avow  our  conviction,  that 
there  are  strains  of  poetry  in  this  book  which  the  age  has  not  surpassed.  There  are 
poems  here  in  which  melody  and  power,  elegance  of  expression,  and  fullness  of  mean- 
ing, are  so  exquisitely  blended,  that  we  know  not  where  to  look  for  instances  of  com- 
pleter triumph  over  the  difficulties  of  poetical  composition." — Home  Journal. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  his  poetical  pieces  again  collected.  Though  many  of  them  are 
as  familiar  to  us  as  a  household  word — as  his  '  Marco  Bozzaris' — others,  as  his  '  Fanny,' 
ha%-e  been  long  out  of  print.  But  in  this  volume  we  have  them  all,  as  selected  by  him- 
self, and  got  up  in  a  style  answering  to  their  worth." — Hartford  Herald. 

"  His  poems  are  chaste,  graceful,  witty,  and,  as  in  the  case  of  his  '  Marco  Bozzaris,' 
stirring.  He  ranks  among  the  first  of  American  poets,  and  has  written  some  pieces 
which  will  live  as  long  as  expressions  of  true  pathos  and  friendship  shall  wake  a 
response  in  the  heart." — Central  Christian  Herald. 


JUBT    PUBLT8HED, 

LILLIAN 

AND    OTHER    POEMS. 

BY   WINTHROP    MACKWORTH   PRAED. 

Now  first  Collected.     One  Volume  12mo.      Price  One  Dollar. 

"  The  author  was  careless  of  his  fame,  though  he  sent  forth  rothins;  from  his  pen  with- 
out the  stamp  of  his  exquisite  taste  and  elaborate  finish.  The  poems  in  this  collection 
are  just  those  to  read  hloud  in  the  drawins^-room,  when  sentiment  must  be  tempered 
with  sprightliness,  and  pathos  with  wit.     It  is  a  charming  book." — Boston  Transcript. 

'•A  timely  publication  is  this  volume.  A  more  charming  compiinion  (in  the  shape  of 
a  book)  can  scarcely  be  found  for  the  summer  holydays." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  Tbey  are  amusing^  sketches,  gay  and  sprightly  in  their  rharHCter,  exhibiting  great 
facility  of  composition,  and  considerable  powers  of  satire." — Hartford  Courant. 

"  His  poems  are  generally  very  sprightly  and  pungent.  The  humor  and  satire  so  far 
as  they  pervade  his  lines  are  chastened  by  good  taste  and  kindly  feeling.  The  book  will 
doubtle-s  command  much  attention." — N.  H  Palladium. 

'•  As  a  writer  of  vers  de  soririe  he  is  pronounced  to  be  without  an  equal  among  Eng- 
lish authors." — Syracuse  Daily  Journal. 

"  The  author  of  this  volume  was  one  of  the  most  fluent  and  versatile  English  poets  that 
have  shone  in  the  literary  world  within  the  last  centui-y.  His  versification  is  astoni.ah- 
ingly  easy  and  aii-y,  and  his  imagery  not  less  wonderfully  graceful  and  aerial." — Albany 
Stale  Register. 

"  Many  of  his  poems  are  of  n  high  order — indeed,  unsurpassed  in  their  peculiar  style 
and  classification." — Lowell  Courier. 

"  The  versification  is  graceful,  fluent,  and  eloquent.  Praed  resembles  Halleck  at  times 
in  a  humorous  blending  of  the  romantic  and  practical ;  and  it  is  ever  his  habit  to  clothe 
grave  thoim'hts  in  gay  careless  language,  like  one  who  presents  truth  in  the  garb  ol  jest." 
Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  There  is  a  brilliant  play  of  fancy  in  '  Lillian,'  and  a  moving  tenderness  in  '  Josephine,' 
for  which  it  would  be  hard  to  find  equals.  We  welcome,  therefore,  this  first  collected 
edition  of  his  works." — Albany  Express. 

'■  The  volume  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  recently  published  collections  of 
poems,  and  will  find  many  admirers.  Its  beautiful  appearance  is  well  desen'ed  by  the 
contents." — Newark  Advertiser. 

"  Almost  every  line  shows  that  Mr.  Praed  was  a  master  in  the  use  of  our  language,  and 
was  gifted  in  a  high  degree  with  good  sense  and  poetical  conceptions.  He  is  never  lost 
in  sentiment  so  far  as  to  forget  how  his  subject  would  be  received  by  common  sense. 
This  sometimes  gives  his  verses  the  appearance  of  wanting  earnestness,  indeed  makes 
them  soimd  almost  flippant.  But  it  gives  them,  on  the  other  hand,  a  character  of  uni- 
versality that  will  pleiise  more  readers  than  the  most  pleasing  abandonment  to  sentiment. 
We  can  freely  recommend  it  to  a  place  in  every  library." — Commonwealth. 

"  How  poems  like  these  could  have  so  long  escaped  the  notice  of  the  leading  English 
booksellers,  is  somewhat  curious,  for  they  certainly  deserve  a  place  in  the  best  libraries, 
and  no  poet's  library  can  be  complete  without  them." — Albion. 

"  The  poems  are  full  of  fancy  and  of  refinement ;  with  the  man  of  sentiment  continu- 
ally peeping  out  of  the  man  of  the  world  ;  and  with  a  strange  mixture  of  natural  beauty, 
with  the  most  delicate  art.  Praed  might,  with  more  ambition,  have  been  a  great  poet- 
He  was  contented  with  being  a  popular  one  ;  writing  only  for  occasion,  and  more  gen- 
erally from  an  impulse  of  fun  than  one  of  feeling." — Evening  Bulletin. 

"  His  literary  reputation  was  truly  an  enviable  one,  and  we  are  glad  that  the  public 
are  afforded  the  possession  and  reading  of  some  of  his  very  superior  productions." — 
Syracuse  Star. 

"  Though  not  a  voluminous,  he  certainly  was  a  true  poet,  as  every  tolerable  judge 
will  find  on  a  perusal  of  but  a  few  pages  of  this  work.  Many  admirers  of  the  poet  will 
hail  this  publication  \vith  pleasure." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  Lillian,  with  the  accompanying  productions  of  its  author,  forms  therefore  a  most  de- 
lightful volume,  and  the  lovers  of  tlie  poetic  in  thought,  in  feeling  and  expression,  will 
feel  under  oliligations  to  the  compiler  and  the  publisher  for  having  so  much  contributed 
to  their  intellectual  enjoyment." — Troy  Budget. 

"  Praed  was  an  agreeable  companion,  au  excellent  man,  a  dasliing,  oiT-hand  writer,  and 
a  pleasant  rhymer." — Musical  World. 


JtTST    FUBLISHKI), 

LAYS  OF  THE  SCOTTISH  CAVALIERS. 

By  WILLIAM  E.  AYTOUN, 

ySOFESSOB   OF  LITEEATURE  AND  BELLES  LETTEES  IN  THE  UNIVEESITT  OF  BdNBUBaB; 
AND   EDITOE   OF   BLACKWOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

One  Volume^  ISwc,  Cloth — ^Pkice  $1. 

"  These  6train3  belong  to  stirring  and  pathetic  events,  and  ■until  poetic  descriptions 
of  them  shall  be  di.-regarded,  we  think  Mr.  Aytoun's  productions  well  calculated  to 
maintain  a  favorite  place  in  public  eetiraation." — Literary  Gazette. 

'•  The  ballads  in  question  are  strongly  tinged  by  deep  national  feeling,  and  remind  the 
reader  of  Macaulay's  '  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome;'  and,  from  the  more  picturesque  nature 
of  the  subject,  are,  perhaps,  even  still  more  highly  colored.  'Edinburgh  alter  Flod- 
den,'  '  the  Death  of  Montrose,'  and  '  the  Battle  of  Kiliecranke,'  are  strains  which  £;cotch» 
men  will  not  willingly  let  die." — Men  of  the  Time  in  1852. 

"  Choosing  from  the  ample  range  of  Scottish  history,  occasions  which  are  near  and 
dear  to  the  popular  sympathy  of  his  country.  Mr  Aytoun,  confident  of  the  force  of 
strone  convictions  and  a  direct  appeal  to  the  elementary  emotions  of  the  human  heart, 
has  presented  us  eight  noble  lays — clear  in  feeiine,  simple  and  direct  in  exprest-ion, 
and  happily  varied  and  variable  in  measure,  which  will,  we  are  confident,  outlive  many, 
il  not  all,  of  hia  more  pretentious  and  ornamented  contemporaries." — Liurary  World. 


ALSO, 

THE  BOOK  OF  BALLADS. 

EDITED    BY 

BOK  GAULTIEE. 
One  Yolume^  12mo..,  Cloth — Pkice  Y5  cts. 

"Bon  Gaultier  himself,  his  wit,  satire,  and  versification,  remained  a  'Yarrow  nn- 
Yisited.'  The  opuscula  of  that  humorous  writer,  somehow  marvellously  escaping  the 
prehensile  fingers  of  our  publishers,  were  yet  unknown  to  American  readers  :  though 
an  occasional  whiff  and  stray  aroma  of  the  choice  volume  had  now  and  then  transj/ired 
through  the  columns  of  a  magazine  or  newspaper. 

'•  Bon  Gaultior's  Book  of  Ballads  is  simply  the  wittiest  and  best  thing  of  the  kind  since 
the  Rejected  Addresses.  Its  parodies  of  Lockhart  (in  the  ."Spanish  Hallads),  of  Tenny- 
son (his  lovely  sing-song  puerilities),  of  Macaulay  (the  sounding  Roman  strain),  of 
Moses  (the  '  puff  poetical'),  are,  with  a  dozen  others,  in  various  ways,  any  of  them 
equal  to  the  famous  Crabbe,  and  Scott,  and  Coleridge  of  the  re-ascending  Crury  Lane." 
Literary  World. 


IN    PRESS, 


Jfffa non    Lescaut. 

BT 

The  Abbe   Prevost. 


JUST    rirBLISIIEP, 

LYRA,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Bv    ALICE    CAREY, 

AXirnOR   OF    "CLOVERNOOK,"    AND    ONE   OF   THE   AtlTIlORS   OF    " POEMS   BT 
ALICE    AND   PIKEUE   CAREV." 

In  one  volume,  12mo,  cloth,  price  75  cts. 

"WHiPthfr  poptry  he  dpfinrd  as  the  rliythmiral  crpation  of  hpauty,  as  passion  or  do- 
qnnnce  in  hnrmoiiious  numlipra.  or  as  tliousht  and  feeling  mnnilertrd  hy  piDrpcsrs  of 
the  iinngiiiation.  AWre  Caiey  is  incontpstahly  and  incomparably  thp  firtt  living  American 
poctios  —  frpch.  indi-rrnous. national — rich  beyond  precedent  insiiitableHndsi'iieudua  im- 
agery— of  the  finest  and  hii-'hept  qualities  of  foelinfi.  and  fXich  powprs  of  creation  ne  the 
AlmiV'hty  has  sppn  fit  to  b>>?tow  Init  rarply  or  in  far-separated  countries. .  .  'I'he  forms 
of  her  iniaaiiiation  are  clothed  with  spoils  eho  herself  has  brouL'ht'from  the  fields. — The 
feelinss  displayed  in  her  poems  are  in  an  eminent  degree  fruits  of  her  own  experience. 
In  all  literature  there  is  nothing  in  every  respect  more  certainly  genuine It  may  ea- 
sily be  inferred  from  many  of  her  compositions  who  are  her  lavorite  poets — es|)»'cially 
that  Chaucer  and  Milron  are  lovingly  studied  by  her;  hut  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
she  has  oriiiinal  and  extraordinary  powers,  or  that  the  elements  of  L'enius  are  poun^d 
forth  in  her  verses  with  an  astnnishin;:  richness  and  prodigality  " — Boston  Transi-ripU 

"Some  ot  these  poems  are  truly  great.  Miss  Carey  is  amoni»  the  best  of  living  piiets, 
There  are  startlins;  intimations  of  power,  low,  vague  muniiurings  of  a  magic  voice, 
ever\  where  to  be  detected,  which  leave  the  impression  of  genius  undeveloped,  and  yet 
to  shine  forth.  A  deep,  mellow  feeling,  the  chords  of  which  are  susceptible  of  heaven- 
ly music,  a  power  and  sweetness  of  versification,  and  a  fiimiliar  toiich  of  those  transcen- 
dent truths  to  which  genius  alone  has  access,  are  qualities  of  the  true  poet.  We  feel 
the  spill  the  moment  we  enter  the  sphere  of  her  thought." — New  York  Evnnj^tlht 

"Miss  Carey  possesses  a  lively  and  delicte  fancy ;  her  mind  teems  with  rural  im- 
aees.  which  have  been  suggested  by  a  genuine  passion  for  nature;  she  avails  herself 
with  spiintaneous  facility,  of  the  everyday  sights  and  sounds  of  the  country  for  the 
purposes  of  poetry  :  throwing  the  charm  of  a  graceful  ideality  over  the  homeliest  de- 
tails of  household  life;  her  verse  Hows  in  a  vein  of  pure  and  tender  sentiment ;  while 
she  pos-'esses  a  sufficient  variety  and  strength  of  expres-ion  to  do  justice  to  her  highest 
inspirations.  In  sweetness,  in  pathos,  in  tenderness,  in  the  simi)le  melody  of  versifica- 
tion, she  will  compare  favorably  with  Mrs  Brownine,  or  with  any  other  living  poetesB. 
She  is  always  calm,  reverent,  and  subdu'-d." — A'cw  York  Daily  Tribune. 

"  These  are  the  sweetest  and  mo.-^t  beautiful  poems  we  have  ever  read  When  once 
taken  up  the  volume  must  be  finished.  There  is  something  so  charminiily  rich,  so 
delightfully  encbantinL',  yet  so  simple  and  natural  in  its  contents,  that  they  talte  right 
hold  of  the  mind  and  hi  art  and  leave  an  impres.sion  for  ever.  Alice  Carey  is  no  common 
author.  Whatever  she  writes,  in  prose  or  poetry,  contains  so  many  strons  points  of 
originality,  of  real  genius,  of  well-cultivateil  and  fertile  imagination,  that  it  may  be  justly 
said  she  writes  for  immortality.  !^he  is  a  jewel  in  the  ca-ket  of  American  literature,  that 
dims  the  lustre  ot  the  most  precious  in  that  of  any  other  nation  "—  Syracuse  Daily  Journal, 

"The  author  hoMs  an  honorable  place  in  the  front  rank  of  our  poets,  and  both  here 
and  in  Europe  is  esteemed  one  of  the  sweetest  and  tnost  pathetic  and  tender  living 
writers.  In  many  ot  these  poem-*  we  find  instances  of  the  most  exquisite  versification, 
combined  frequently  with  descriptive  powers  that  successfully  rival  Bryant  in  his  own 
realm,  and  distance  every  other  writer  among  us.  Indeed,  there  is  si  arcely  a  poem  in 
this  collection  that  does  not  sparkle  with  pure  s^f.mi  "— Albany  State  Register. 

"The  genuine  inspiration  of  poetic  feiling,  ...  replete  with  tenderness  and  beauty, 
earnestness  ami  truthful  i-implicity,  and  all  the  attributes  of  a  powerful  imagination  and 
vivid  fancy.  We  know  of  nn  superior  to  Miss  Carey  among  the  female  authors  of  this 
country." — New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

"To  say  that  Alice  Carey  is  -what  Milton  %vould  have  been,  had  Milton  been  a  wo- 
man.' we  can  not  regard  as  extravagant  praise.  Her  poems  have  little  in  common 
with  the  mass  of  verses  by  her  sex.  f^he  has  the  strength  of  the  old  masters  of  song, 
with  all  th"  sweetness  of  a  woman.  She  has  a  wealth  of  imagery  and  a  felicity  in  the 
description  of  nature  rarely  met." — Pirrtlaiid  Transcript. 

"Alice  Carey's  book  is  lull  of  br-autiful  thoughts ;  there  is  draucht  after  drausht  of 
pure  pleasure  for  the  lover  of  .-weet,  tender  fancies,  and  imagery  which  <  apliviites, 
while  it  enforces  truth.  It  is  difficult  to  read  Miss  Carey's  poems  without  being  drawn 
toward  her,  and  thinking  that  those  must  be  happy  who  are  loved  by  her;  and  this  is 
one  reason  why  we  call  her  poems  feminine." — Stw  York  Courier  and  Inquirer. 

"  'Lyra  and  other  Poems,'  just  published  ay  Redtield,  attracts  everywhere,  a  remark- 
able degree  of  attention.  A  dozen  of  the  leading  journals,  and  many  eminent  critics, 
hare  pronounced  the  autiioress  the  greatest  poetess  living," — New  York  Mirror. 


nunnank; 

OR, 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  OUR  HOME  IN  THE  WEST. 

Bt  ALICE  CAREY. 
Illustrated  hy  Daeley.     One  vol.^  12mo. 


"  We  do  not  hesitate  to  predict  for  these  sketches  a  wiJe  populnrity. 
They  bear  the  true  stamp  of  genius — simple,  natural,  truthful — and  evince 
0  keen  sense  of  the  humor  and  pathos,  of  the  comedy  and  tragedy,  of  life 
In  tlie  country.  No  one  who  has  ever  read  it  can  dn^rt  the  sad  and  beau- 
tiful story  of  Mary  Wildermings ;  its  weird  fancy,  tenderness,  and  beauty; 
its  touching  descri[)tion  of  the  emotions  of  a  sick  and  suffering  human  spirit, 
and  if-!  exquisite  rural  pictures.  The  moral  tone  of  Alice  Carey's  writings 
is  unobjectionable  always." — J.  G.  WHirriKn. 

"  Miss  Carey's  experience  has  been  in  the  midst  of  rural  occupations!,  in 
the  interior  of  Ohio.  Every  word  here  reflects  this  experience,  in  the  rar- 
est shapes,  and  most  exquisite  hues.  The  opinion  now  appears  to  be  com- 
monly entertained,  that  Alice  Carey  is  decidedly  the  first  of  our  female  au- 
thors; an  opinion  which  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  J.  G.  Whittier,  Dr.  Griswold, 
Wm.  D.  Gallagher,  Bayard  Taylor,  with  many  others,  have  on  various 
occasions  endorsed." — Illustrated  News. 

"  If  we  look  at  the  entire  catalogue  of  female  writers  of  prose  fiction  in 
this  country,  we  shall  find  no  one  who  approaches  Alice  Carey  in  the  best 
characteristics  of  genius.  Like  all  genuine  authors  she  has  peculiarities; 
her  hand  is  detected  as  unerringly  as  that  of  Poe  or  Hawthorne ;  as  much 
as  they  she  is  apart  from  others  and  above  others ;  and  her  sketches  of 
country  life  must,  we  think,  be  admitted  to  be  superior  even  to  those  delight- 
ful tales  of  Miss  Mitford,  which,  in  a  similar  line,  are  generally  acknowledged 
<o  be  equal  to  anything  done  in  England." — International  Magazine. 

"  Alice  Carey  has  perhaps  the  strongest  imagination  among  the  women 
ot  this  country.  Her  writings  will  live  longer  than  those  of  any  other 
woman  among  us." — American  Whig  Review. 

"  Alice  Carey  has  a  fine,  rich,  and  purely  original  genius.  Her  country 
stories  are  almost  unequaled." — Knickerbocker  Magazine. 

"  Miss  Carey's  sketches  are  remarkably  fresh,  and  exquisite  in  delicacy, 
humor,  and  pathos.     She  is  booked  for  immortality." — Home  Journal. 

"The  Times  speaks  of  Alice  Carey  as  standing  at  the  head  of  the  living 
female  writers  of  America.  We  go  even  farther  in  our  favorable  judgment, 
and  express  the  opinion  that  among  those  living  or  dead,  she  has  had  no 
equal  in  this  country  ;  and  we  know  of  few  in  the  annals  of  English  litera- 
ture who  have  exhibited  superior  gifts  of  real  poetic  genius." — The  (^Portlundf 
Me.)  Eclectic. 


JUST     PUBLISHED, 

ISA 

A    PILGRIMAGE. 

BY  CAROLINE  CHESEBRO'. 
In  one  yolume,  12nao.,  cloth,  price  $T*.00.     Second  Edition. 

"  Mis8  ChPseViro'  baa  conquRred  a  hiph  place  in  a  difficult  ephpre  of  literary  creation. 
VVitliout  inilulaina'  in  euperfluous  comparisons,  we  tell  her  that  she  need  not  envy  tlie 
position  of  any  female  writer  in  this  country.  Her  vigorous  originality  is  a  pledtre  of 
al)ility  for  future  triumphs.  But  if  she  shall  leave  do  other  mpmorl«I  ot  her  gifted 
nature,  it  is  no  mean  fame  to  have  been  the  writer  of  'lea's  Pilgrimage.' " — Ifea  York 
Daily  Tribune. 

"The  character  of  Isa  is  unique  and  extraordinary,  requiring  a  powerful  imagina- 
tion to  conceive,  and  a  master-pen  to  portray.  The  style  is  vigorous  as  wt-U  as  Iunu- 
rinnt  arsumentative  as  well  as  imaeinative,  and  carries  a  wild  and  weird  spell  to  the 
heart  of  the  reader." — Home  Journal. 

"  To  many  the  hook  will  be  merely  a  powerfully-wrought  fiction,  which  they  will 
reail  at  a  grasp,  and  fling  aside  when  they  have  gulped  the  denouement,  as  thev  do  the 
scores  of  novils  which  are  constantly  pouring  from  the  press  ;  hut  to  all  who  think,  as 
well  as  read,  it  will  prove  something  more  and  better." — Albany  Daily  State  Register. 

"The  author  has  drawn  a  melancholy  picture  illustrative  of  the  fallibility  of  human 
judsment,  and  her  tale,  rightly  understood,  is  a  moral  lesson  of  no  incoDsiderable 
force." — Boston  Journal. 

"  The  writer  of  this  volume,  we  believe,  had  high  intentions  of  doing  a  great  and 
good  thing  :  it  has  marks  of  genius,  truth,  and  feeling  in  it,  and  much  of  it  is  greatly 
to  our  mind  " — New  York  Observer. 

"This  is  a  work  of  more  ambitious  aim  than  that  of  the  generality  of  brief  works  of 
fiction.  The  character  of  the  heroine  is  powerfully  sustained,  the  subordinate  charac- 
ters well  developed,  and  the  work  elevated  and  healthy  in  tone." — Literary  World. 

"  She  evidently  possesses  great  facility  with  the  pen,  and  bids  fair  to  make  rapid 
progress  in  the  path  of  letters.  From  a  perusal  of  this  new  work,  we  have  no  hesita- 
tion in  saying  that  she  possesses  a  comprehensive,  inventive,  and  brilliant  mind,  i  apa- 
ble  of  conceiving  strange  scenes  and  positions,  and  reasoning  upon  them  in  sparkling 
laneunge." — True  Democrat. 

"The  Pilgrimage  is  fraught  throughout  with  scenes  of  thrilling  interest — romantic, 
yet  possessing  a  naturalness  that  serm*  to  stamp  them  as  real ;  the  style  is  flowing  and 
easy,  chaste  and  lieaulilul." — Troy  Daily  Times. 

"  Miss  Chesebro'  is  eviilently  a  thinker— she  skims  not  the  mere  surface  of  life,  but 
plunges  boldly  into  the  bidden  mysteries  of  the  spirit,  by  which  she  is  warranted  in 
making  her  startling  revelations  of  human  passion." — Christia7i  Freeman. 

"  There  comes  out  in  this  book  the  evidence  of  an  inventive  mind,  a  cultivated  taste, 
kn  exquisite  sensibility,  and  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature." — Albany  Argus. 

"  It  is  a  charming  book,  pervaded  by  a  vein  of  pure  ennobling  thought." — Troy  Tfliig. 

"  There  is  no  one  who  will  doubt  that  this  is  a  courageous  and  able  work,  displaying 
genius  and  depth  of  teeling,  and  striking  at  a  high  and  noble  aim  " — N   Y.  Evangelist. 

"  There  is  a  fine  vein  of  tenderness  running  through  the  story,  which  is  peculiarly 
one  of  passion  and  sentiment." — Arthur's  Home  Gazette. 

"  We  have  h>re  a  picture  of  the  pilgrimage  of  life,  made  by  one  who  has  climbed  the 
hill  sufficiently  high  to  make  a  retrospect  ot  the  past,  give  much  of  actual  experii  ncc, 
an<l  dart  a  glance  along  the  vista  lying  before.  Whoever  follows  her  attentively 
thr<iugh  this  volume  will  be  the  better  fitted  for  the  journey  which  all  on  earth  must 
travel  " — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"This  is  the  production  of  a  writer  of  considerable  fancy,  and  good  descriptivB 
powers." — Richmond  Religious  Herald. 

"  She  holds  a  ready  pen,  and  the  pages  evince  a  woman  of  deep  thought." — Boston 
Evening  Gazette, 


MISS   CHESEBRO'S  NEW   WORK. 

DREAM-LAND  BY  DAYLIGHT; 

A 

PANOKAMA  OF  EOMAKCE. 

By  CAROLINE  CHESEBRO. 
Illustrated  l)y  Daeley.     One  vol.^  12mo. 


"  These  simple  and  beautiful  stories  are  all  highly  endued  with  an  exquisite 
perception  of  natural  beautj',  with  which  is  combined  an  appreciative  sense  otits 
relation  to  the  highest  moral  emotions." — Albany  State  Register. 

"  There  is  a  fine  vein  of  pure  and  holy  thought  pervading  every  tale  in  the  vol- 
ume ;  and  every  lover  of  the  beautiful  and  true  will  feel  while  perusing  it  that 
he  is  conversing  with  a  kindred  spirit.'' — Albany  Evening  Atlas. 

"  The  journey  through  Dream-Land  will  be  found  full  of  pleasure;  and  when 
one  returns  from  if,  he  will  have  his  mind  filled  w^ith  good  suggestions  for  practi- 
cal life." — Rochester  Democrat. 

"  The  anticipations  we  have  had  of  this  promised  book  are  more  than  realized. 
It  ia  a  collection  of  beautiful  sketches,  in  which  the  cultivated  imagination  of  the 
authoress  has  interwoven  the  visions  of  Dream-Land  with  the  realities  of  life." 

Ontario  Messeiiger. 

"  The  dedication,  in  its  sweet  and  touching  purity  of  emotion,  is  itself  an  ear- 
nest of  the  many  'blessed  hou.sehold  voices'  that  come  up  from  the  heart's  clear 
depth,  throughout  the  book.'' — Ontario  Repository. 

"  Gladly  do  we  greet  this  flovvreret  in  the  field  of  our  literature,  for  it  ia  fragrant 
with  sweets  and  bright  with  hties  that  mark  it  to  be  of  Heaven's  own  planting." 

Courier  and  Enquirer. 

"There  is  a  depth  of  sentiment  and  feeling  not  ordinarily  met  with,  and  some 
of  the  noblest  faculties  and  affections  of  man's  nature  are  depicted  and  illustrated 
by  the  skilful  pen  of  the  authoress." — Churchman. 

"  This  collection  of  stories  fully  sustains  her  previous  reputation,  and  also  givei 
ft  brilliant  promise  of  future  eminence  in  this  department  of  literature." 

Tribune. 

"  We  find  in  this  volume  anmistakeable  evidences  of  originality  of  mind,  an 
almost  superfluous  depth  of  reflection  for  the  department  of  composition  to  which 
it  is  devoted,  a  rare  facility  in  seizing  the  multiform  aspects  of  nature,  and  a  still 
rarer  power  of  giving  them  the  form  and  hue  of  imagination,  without  destroying 
iheir  identity." — Harper's  Magazine. 

"  In  all  the  productions  of  Miss  Chesebro's  pen  is  evident  a  delicate  perception 
of  the  relation  of  natural  beauty  to  the  moral  emotions,  and  a  deep  love  of  the  tmo 
■nd  the  beautiful  in  art  and  nature." — Day-Book. 


A  XEW  AND  POPUZAR  VOLVMK. 

TALES  AND  TRADITIOIS^S 

OF 

HUNGARY. 

BY  THERESA  PULSZKY. 

With  a  Portrait  of  the  Author. 
In  One  Volume,  Cloth— Price,  $1  25. 
Thb  above  contains,  in  addition  to  the  English  publication,  a  new  Preface,  and 
Talks,  now  first  printed  from  the  manuscript  of  the  Author,  who  has  a  direct  interuAt  ia 
the  publication. 

COITTESTS. 


1.  The  Baron's  Daughter. 

2.  The  Castle  of  Zipsen, 

3.  Yanoshik,  the  Robber. 

4.  Tlie  Free  Shot. 

5.  The  Golden  Cross  of  Korosfo. 

6.  Tlie  Guardians. 

7.  The  Love  of  the  Angels. 

8.  The  Miiid  and  the  Genii. 

9.  A-hmodai,  the  Lame  Demon. 
10.  The  Nun  of  Rauchenbach. 


\\.  The  Cloister  of  Manaatir. 

12.  Pan  Twardowsky. 

13.  The  Poor  Tartar. 

14.  The  Maidens'  Cattle. 

15.  The  Hair  of  the  Orphan  Girl. 

16.  The  Rocks  of  Lipnik. 

17.  Jack,  the  Horse-Dealer. 

18.  Klingsohr  of  Hungary. 
19    Yanosh,  the  Hero. 

20.  The  Hungarian  Outlaws. 


21.  Tradition  of  the  Hungarian  Race. 


"Madame  Pulszky  is  familiar  with  these  traditions  ot  the  people,  and  has  perfectly 
eucieriled  in  uettins;  tliem  intu  an  attractive  form,  with  some  purely  original  tales  from 
her  own  pen  " — Worctflt-r  National  XgU. 

•'  The  legends  iTi  this  work  are  very  beautilul,  full  of  interest,  varied  and  sparkling  in 
style." — Boston  Olive  Branch. 

"  t-trikini;ly  illustrative  of  the  inanners  and  customs  that  have  prevailed  in  different 
periods  of  hi-r  history,  it  is  written  with  grareful  yet  dignified  freedom  "—Albany  Arg. 

"The  stories  art'  of  a  wild  and  fanciful  character,  which  will  cause  them  to  be  read 
with  interest  by  all,  while  they  really  throw  light  upon  the  early  history  and  manners 
of  Humrary."  — i4i6flny  Express. 

'  Reiiinrkal'ly  well  written,  and  illustrative,  in  an  eminent  degree,  of  the  different 
epoibs  in  the  hirtory  of  Hungary,  and  present  distinct  phases  of  Hunearian  life,  painted 
in  slowini?  colors,  and  interwoven  with  the  vigorous  play  of  a  hvely  imagination." — 
Albany  Daily  Register. 

"Tliey  are  tersely  and  descriptively  written,  and  give  the  reader  a  better  insight  into 
the  ancient  and  peculiar  characteristics  of  tliis  people  than  can  be  gathered  from  any 
more  history." — Bunker  Hill  Aurora 

"Some  of  them  are  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  indicate  the  character  and  hahits  of 
thousht  of  the  people  better  than  anything  we  have  seen." — TV.  O  Journal  and  Courier. 

"Thi' author  enters  into  the  legendary  life  of  her  own  country,  and  transl'ust  s  them 
into  a  language  tliat  she  has  mastered  so  as  to  write  it  with  uncommon  purity  and 
correc  tness" — In  rii-pen  den  t. 

"  This  work  claims  more  attention  than  is  ordinarily  given  to  books  of  its  class. 
Such  is  lhi>  Huency  and  correctness — nay,  even  the  nicety  and  felicity  of  style — with 
which  Madame  I'ulszky  writes  the  Knglish  language,  that  merely  in  this  respect  the 
tales  hern  ciOlected  form  a  curious  study  " — London  Examiner 

"  Freshness  of  subject  is  invaluable  in  literature — Huuiiary  is  still  fresh  eromid.  It 
has  lieen  trodden,  but  it  is  not  yet  a  common  highway.  The  tales  and  le^'enris  are  very 
variovis.  from  the  mere  traditional  anecdote  to  the  regular  les;rrd.  and  they  have  the 
sort  of  intere(.t  which  all  national  traditions  excite."— Lo7;^07i  Leader 

'•Madam  Pulszky  has  n  .special  budget  of  her  own.  The  legend  of  'The  Castle  of 
Zipsrn'  is  told  with  racy  humor.  Whimsically  absurd  are  the  matrimonial  dittiiulties 
ot  Pan  and  Parina  Twardowsky,  as  here  related  ;  while  the  fate  of  Vemielin  Drugith 
gives  lliat  fine  old  ligend  a  more  orthodox  and  edityine  close  than  the  originrd  version 
possesses.    Most  interesting  of  all  are  '  The  Hungoifan  Outlaws.'  "—London  Atkenaum. 


JUST    PUBLISHED, 

CHAMCTERS  IN  THE  GOSPEL 

ILLUSTRATING 

PHASES  OF  CHARACTER  AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY.     . 
By  Rev.  E.  H.  CHAPIN. 
One  Volume,  12mo.,  Cloth — Price  50  cts. 

SUBJECTS. 

I.  John  the  Baptist ;  the  Eeformer. 
n  Herod;  the  Sensualist. 

III.  Thomas;  the  Skeptic. 

IV.  Pilate ;  the  Man  of  the  "World. 

V.  Nicodemus;  the  Seeker  after  Eeligion. 
VI.  The  Sisters  of  Bethany. 

«'  Each  of  the  persons  hero  nampd  is  tnkrn  as  a  rpprespntative,  or  lypfi,  of  a  claPS  still 
foiinil  in  the  world,  whose  characteristics  the  preacher  draws  out  and  illustrates  for  the 
instruction,  reproof,  or  correction  of  his  hearers  and  readers.  The  work  is  done  with 
a  skilful  hand,  and  in  a  style  attractive  and  impressive.  The  book  furnished  not  only 
agreeable,  but  very  useful  and  instructive  reading." — Boston  Traveller. 

"  The  preacher  has  selected  the  most  striking  traits  in  each  eharacter  delineated,  as 
typical  of  classes  at  the  present  day.  The  practical  nature  and  perpetual  freshness  of 
the  Go-pel  narrative  are  strikingly  exhiliited,  in  the  parallels  he  draws  between  the 
times  therein  described  and  our  own." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

"They  are  forcible  in  style,  vieorous  in  thoufiht,  and  earnest  in  spirit;  and,  although 
there  is  much  in  it  from  which  we  would  most  decidedly  dissent,  the  book  may  bo 
profitably  perused  by  every  mind  of  common  discrimination." — Courier  ff  Enquirer. 

"As  we  read  his  pages,  the  reformer,  the  sensualist,  the  skeptic,  the  man  of  the 
world,  the  seeker,  the  sii^ter  of  charity  and  of  (aith,  stand  out  from  the  riciiptures,  and 
join  them.-ielves  with  our  own  living  world.  The  volume  is  very  instructive,  eloquent, 
and  quickening,  full  of  thoUL'hts  and  purposes  moat  vital  to  our  liberal  views  of 
Christianity." — Christian  Enquirer. 

"The  author  of  this  work  is  well  known  as  an  eloquent  lecturer,  and  those  who  read 
this  volume  will  not  be  di.-appoitited  in  their  expectations.  It  is  intended  to  help  the 
reader  to  realize  the  vivid  truthfulness  and  the  perpetual  freshness  of  the  gospel  narra- 
tive. While  we  dis-^ent  from  some  of  his  opinions,  we  recommend  it  as  an  able  and 
eloquent  work." — Albany  Express. 

"Mr  Chapin  has  an  easy,  graceful  style,  neatly  touchins  the  outlines  of  his  pictures, 
and  giving  great  consistency  and  beauty  to  the  whole  The  reader  will  find  admirable 
de.-icription-',  some  most  wholesome  lessons,  and  a  fine  spirit.  He  must  not,  however, 
look  for  deeply  spiritual  views,  nor  for  an  estimate  of  men  and  deeds  by  the  orthodox 
standard.  They  are  rhetorically  very  creditable,  and  deal  with  religious  truth  with  an 
earnestness  not  always  to  be  found  in  the  writer's  denomination." — N.  Y  Evangelist. 

"  Mr.  Chapin  is  a  graphic  painter.  He  writes  in  a  forcible,  bold,  and  fearless  man- 
ner: anri  while  we  can  not  accord  with  all  his  views,  many  suu'!.'e.»tive  thouilhts  and 
useful  retlections  may  be  derived  from  its  pages." — Religious  Herald  (Richmond,  I'a.) 

"These  discourses  have  been  delivered  by  Mr.  Chapin  from  the  pulpit,  and  all  who 
have  listened  to  the  speaker  can  attest  to  the  charm  which  his  eloquence  throws  around 
any  subject  that  he  handles.  These  discourses  teem  with  beautiful  imagery,  and 
abound  with  strong,  pungent  truths,  and  whoever  reada  one  will  read  the  book 
through." — Olivi  Branch  (Boston.) 


REDFIELD  S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS  IN  PREPAHATION. 
MEN  OF  THE   TIME  IN  185-2; 

Or,  Sketches  of  Living  Notables  :  Authors,  Architects,  Artists, 
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PHILOSOPHERS  AND  ACTRESSES. 

By  Arsene  Houssate.  With  beautifully-engraved  Portraits  of 
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THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  CRUSADES. 

By  Joseph  Francois  Michaud.  Translated  by  Robson.  Three 
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OUTLINES  OF  COMPARATIVE  PHYSIOGNOMY. 

By  J.  W.  Redfield,  M.D.  8vo,  paper,  with  numerous  illustra- 
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JAPAN;  HISTORICAL,  SOCIAL,  AND  INDUSTRIAL. 

By  C.  LuDwiG,  J.  U.  D.  VViih  maps,  and  other  illustrations,  from 
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ANCIENT  EGYPT  UNDER  THE  PHARAOHS. 

By  John  Kendrick,  M.  A.     In  2  vole.,  12mo. 

NEWMANS  REGAL  ROME. 
In  1  vol.,  12mo.     Price  75  cents. 

FATHER  MARQUETTE'S  DISCOVERY 

And  Exploration  of  the  Valley  and  River  of  the  Mississippi.  By 
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first  translated  from  the  original  manuscripts.     In  1  vol.,  8vo. 

HAGAR,  A  ROMANCE  OF  TO-DAY. 

A  new  work  by  Alice  Caret,  author  of  "  Clovernook,"  "  Lyra, 
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THE  CHILDREN  OF  LIGHT. 
A  new  work  by  Caroline  Chesebro',   author  of  "  Isa,  a  Pilgrim- 
age," and  "  Dream  Land  by  Daylight." 

THE  MASTER  BUILDER; 
Or,  Life  in  the  City.      By  Day  Kellogg  Lee,  author  of  "  Sum- 
raertield,  or  Life  on  the  Farm." 

THE  CHEVALIERS  OF  FRANCE; 
From  the  Crusaders  to  the  Mareschals  of  Louis  XIV.     By  HenrT 
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